Lineage
by She Side Walks
Summary: "Rey. These are your first steps." To discover the lineage of Rey, one must walk the path of a star-crossed romance and stumble into a bloody game of cat and mouse. Combines (or attempts to) timelines of Star Wars: Clone Wars and bits of Rebels, Force Awakens, general canon. OBI-TINE. T, might be bumped. Follows "The Lawless" thread.
1. Prologue--Vision

Whispers bounced off the walls as she wandered down the stone stairway, descending into the bowels of Maz Kanata's castle. The voices, which no one else seemed to hear, entranced Rey, beckoning her forward, guiding her.

Down she went, one step at a time, eventually entering a darkened, abandoned corridor. BB-8 clunked behind her, gurgling worriedly, but she paid it no mind.

Moss hung on the cobbled walls, drips of water pinged in the distance, and dirtied lamps lined the hall like silent, flickering sentries. The further she went, the more intense the whispers became. They began to scream. Rounding a corner, she walked into a dusty, forgotten room, where a chest sat unassumingly.

It called to her, spoke to her.

With trembling, wary hands she reached out to it, knowing that this was the source of the faceless, bodiless voices. A bead of cold sweat trickled down her temple as her fingers pried the decrepit container open. Inside sat a variety of perplexing objects, but only one drew her full and complete attention.

It was a metallic handle—an odd, misshapen, silver candlestick with black rings circling it. Rey knew it held a secret, held some cryptic power. Looking behind her and around, making sure no one was there, she touched it.

Instantly, the atmosphere began to shift and the chest snapped shut. Heavy, strained breathing echoed all around accompanied by distant wails and sounds of battle.

She stumbled back with a cry and was transported into the hallway of what appeared to be a spaceship. Blue, translucent beams blinded her. Bewildered, she looked desperately around for another person. Yet, there was no one.

Suddenly, a shriek sounded behind her. The lights blinked warningly, flickering. Scared, she began to run away—down the triangle-shaped, brightly irradiated passageway.

She only got so far before her surroundings crumbled once more. Boulders and dirt replaced the metal, paneled floors. She fell sideways and landed flat on her belly in the mud, the wind knocked out of her. Blearily, she saw a scorched mountain ascend, massive and intimidating, before her eyes. She smelled burning flesh on the stormy air.

A cloaked figure kneeled in front of her, weeping. She could hear his moans of pain. In despair, the anonymous man placed a heavy, robotic hand on the silver-blue droid that sat faithfully beside him, leaning on it for support. Before she had a chance to ask him what was happening, a battle-cry pierced through the night.

Flipping hurriedly over, she scrambled backward just in time as a stranger flopped dead to the ground inches from her, impaled by a red, blazing sword. The setting had transformed once again. Now, Rey sat exposed in the middle of a great battlefield. Corpses littered the ground. A heavy rain fell mercilessly upon the still bodies.

Looking down on her, surrounded by a disguised entourage, stood a gruesome, masked figure. He still gripped the strange, buzzing, red blade at his side threateningly. Rey pushed off the slimy, drenched ground and scampered to her feet.

However, the nefarious party did not notice her. They merely stood, waiting in a loose circle, their respective kills sprawled below them in the sludge. Hardly breathing, Rey began backing slowly away. Yet, as her boots sloshed loudly in the blood-drenched mud, the masked figure with the ominous, glowing blade still clutched in his glove, snapped his hidden head in her direction.

Without warning, he charged toward her. She whisked around, preparing to sprint, her heart flying out of her chest.

As she turned, she was transported once more. She stood in the desert, peering down at her toddler-self. Screaming at the sky, the young Rey begged for her parents to come back. The wailing child watched hopelessly, with tears streaming down her face, as a ship sped away into the oppressive sun and blinked out of sight.

The elder Rey's eyes followed it. Her heart twisted in her chest at the memory.

However, as the vessel disappeared, the sky blackened maliciously. Snow began to fall lightly upon her cheeks. A sensation of the worst vertigo pummeled her mind. A forest, thick with contorted, gnarled trees, sprung up all around her, surrounding her.

" _Rey_ ," someone called on the frigid gales.

Jumping out of her skin, she ran. Her boots punched the snow-covered earth. She pumped her wiry arms desperately while her choked breath came out in puffs of cold fog. Her quickly disheveling hair fluttered behind her in the howling wind. The icy air bit her face, cutting and cruel.

There was a presence sifting through the forest, chasing her. Warped, deadened, wintry branches reached out to her, snagged and scratched her. Stray roots threatened her footing.

There was no end in sight. She pushed harder, ran faster until, suddenly, a shadow crept out from behind one of the trees. It loomed out of the earth, cornering her. It was the same masked, hooded figure as before with his bloodthirsty saber held high, ready to strike her down.

Rey screamed and skidded to a halt, losing her balance. Stumbling, staggering, she tumbled backward and collided with the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. Death was coming.

All was still.

No more snow fell on her sweat-drenched skin. The floor was hard and warm under her scratched palms. She heard the plink of water droplets and the buzz of music somewhere above. With a gasp, she opened her eyes and saw that she had returned to reality. She sat, chest heaving, in the middle of the familiar, humid hallway in the cellar of Maz's castle.

" _These are your first steps_ ," a whisper cooed in her ear.

It was the same voice that had spoken to her in the forest. Madly, she whisked her head around, trying to find its source, but the corridor remained abandoned.

It belonged to a man, one calm and sure. She felt she knew him, her heart gave a pang of recognition, yet she could not place him. Pulse racing, mind buzzing, she strained to recollect just where she had known him from.

"First steps…" she mumbled to herself with a shiver.

It sounded like something a father would say.


	2. Pilgrimage

In the deep shadows of the night, destiny lurked.

Amidst the sleeping city of Mandalore, Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi was restless. There was conflict on the horizon. The movement that called itself Separatist was becoming increasingly hostile. Any day now, it would push the long suffering Republic over the edge and into the fog of war.

The Jedi grumbled in his bed, tossing and turning. He felt woefully unprepared for the trials ahead. Would he fight? Would he remain neutral, a pacifist? Although the latter was the Jedi way, he could sense his Masters leaning in favor of the Republic. The terror that the Separatists instilled was not lost on them.

In the turmoil, Obi-wan longed for a respite. He needed to gather himself, prepare for the inevitable. He told his Masters that he wanted to make a pilgrimage, to find a desolate hole somewhere to meditate. It was an odd time to leave, but they did not stop him. After his own Master's, Qui-Gon Jinn's, death, he threw himself into advancing to Knighthood, determined to never be caught off-guard, helpless, again.

In doing so, he had neglected the spiritual aspects of being a Jedi. Many times, the Masters of the Temple would urge him to slow down, to pause, and to reflect. He had ignored them all until this point. It was not, strictly speaking, a meditative expedition, coming here, but he knew of nowhere else to go.

He had been alone too long.

So, seeking a piece of his old self, he had stolen away to Mandalore to visit Duchess Satine Kryze. The two had a history together.

When he was a padawan, Obi-wan had assisted his Master in protecting the then adolescent Duchess. Bounty hunters, funded by Mandalorian rebels, threatened her life and, thus, threatened the stability of the new regime. The Jedi had been called in to keep the peace. At first, Obi-wan was annoyed with the prospect of having to protect some stuck-up, haughty queen, but he soon recanted that feeling.

She certainly looked like a Duchess. With traditional Mandalorian coloring, she was blonde, pale, and graceful. She was always dressed to the nines in elegant, flowy, ocean-colored gowns and ostentatious accessories weaving through her hair, decorating her willowy arms and slender neck.

Of course he thought her beautiful, but it would be impossible to _not_ consider her as such. There was no avoiding it, he told himself. Yet, what had really cemented his high opinion of her was her cleverness. Obi-wan had always been a smart, witty lad, and he was well aware of that fact. Qui-Gon had censured him constantly about being reckless and arrogant.

Foolishly, Obi-wan had assumed that he could make a joke out of the Duchess like he did everyone else, simply based off of his first impression of her. Anyone who looked that lovely had to be lacking a brain, he reasoned; however, he soon learned his lesson. Whenever he thought he had her dead to rights, whenever he believed he gained the high ground in their conversations, she would find a way to dismantle and confound him.

She had a knack for finding a hole in his judgments—something that both infuriated and intrigued him. By the end of his time with her, when the threat had been resolved, the young Duchess and the padawan had become quite close. So close, that Obi-wan did not want to return back to the Jedi Temple. He begged Qui-Gon for an extended stay, using all of his negotiating tactics on the wizened Master who would not bend.

Unable to persuade Qui-Gon, the Jedi left, but Obi-wan vowed to return one day. Determined to keep in touch, he contacted her as often as he could.

Their bond continued blooming despite their separation. Over the months, she became his best and closest friend. The other padawans would stare, dumbfounded, as the young Obi-wan sprinted, obsessed, to his room right after training and stayed up until the early hours of the day, speaking furiously into a stolen holographic communicator.

More than a few times, he was caught red-handed and assigned kitchen duty or some other punishment. Master Windu had once snatched his ear and forced him to balance on one hand for a whole day without stopping. If he toppled, he had to start over.

Yet, the wily Obi-wan didn't give up. He was determined to keep his friendship with the Duchess alive.

Then came the day when Qui-Gon and him had gone to Naboo and then, before he knew it, he had aged a century. Qui-Gon had been murdered and Obi-wan, still so young, slayed the Sith who had struck his Master, his oldest friend, down. Then there was the new responsibility of a prophesized child, Anakin Skywalker.

It was too much, too quickly. All had been a grand adventure, a puzzle to solve. Obi-wan came back to the Temple broken with the weight of the world on his fledgling shoulders. His seemingly solid relationship with Satine fell to the back of his thoughts, faded away, crumbled. He could not recover his old, silly self. That part of him had died on Naboo.

So, he shut himself away from everyone and everything. For a decade, he did not speak to her. Every time she tried to contact him, he ignored her religiously, pretended not to see, to care.

Therefore, it came as a great surprise to her now that he had returned to her lonely planet after so many years away, after so many years of radio silence, but she did not refuse him.

Even he was bewildered by his decision to fly here, of all places, after all this time. He came under the cover of night, cloaked and quiet, showing up on her front door—literally.

A servant had rushed into her quarters, alerting her to a stranger at the gates.

"I think it's a Jedi, miss!" the alarmed handmaiden squeaked. "He wants to see you!"

That grabbed the sleep-deprived Duchess's attention. She threw on a nightgown and practically sprinted to the gateway, surrounded by her guard.

Then the panels swooshed open and she saw a figure cloaked in brown, face hidden. When she came on the scene, his hood was yanked back, revealing the familiar sparkle of his azure eyes, like sapphires against the backdrop of his tanned, leathered face. Even with the new addition of a beard, Satine instantly knew it was Obi-wan, returned from the dead.

Upon seeing her, he smirked—his usual cocky grin. A strand of his cropped golden hair crept into his face.

He was shackled and frisked in her presence for safety, despite her mystified protest. One of her sentries handed her his lightsaber. Flicking it away, she quickly ordered the Jedi free and returned his weapon. Unfettered, he returned his saber to his belt under his cloak.

"Much obliged," he said in the same shrewd tone, with the same cool expression she remembered.

He then asked for a place to stay for the night and she, stunned into silence, found him a room in her palace, away from the prying, curious eyes of her gossipy servants. She did not even say "good night" as she left him at the doorway.

Now, Obi-wan lay awake, unable to quiet his waspish thoughts.

His young padawan, Anakin Skywalker, was back on Coruscant. Obi-wan had left him there. He did not need to see his Master like this, unhinged and unsure of himself. Being on Mandalore was like stepping back in time.

Pieces of memories, of him and Qui-Gon, came back to him all the time. He had long since put his grief and heartache to rest, but there was still a pang of sadness and guilt whenever Obi-wan thought of his former Master. If only he had been quicker, stronger, faster...he could have saved him.

Groaning in frustration, Obi-wan flipped over once more. He started to regret his decision in coming here—it reopened too many old wounds.

But it had happened so spontaneously. He was flying, aimlessly wandering, not a plan in his head, and then, suddenly, he found himself speeding toward Mandalore like his life depended on it.

He still couldn't believe she had let him in. He was sure she would spit in his face at the sight of him—she had looked astonished enough to do just about anything. Yet, she hadn't. She even gave him a place to stay. He couldn't leave now, not without saying goodbye—not this time, at least.

So, knowing sleep was impossible at this juncture, Obi-wan threw back the covers, put on his discarded cloak, and decided to explore. They hadn't locked the doors, the panels swooshed open obediently as he approached.

Stepping through, he folded his arms into his sleeves and walked quietly though the corridors. The palace had changed.

When he was last here, it was still recovering and suffering from civil war. The place had been a mess, chaotic. Burn marks from blasters decorated the walls, trash and scraps of paper littered the halls, soldiers swarmed around like angry hornets.

At first, he had to speak to Satine through an armed guard, but then a series ambushes left her shorthanded. Soon, the Jedi became her predominant protectors. They stayed by her side twenty-four-seven, even slept in the same room, usually with her on the bed and the Jedi on the floor or in a chair.

Nighttime raids were not uncommon. Obi-wan lost count of the times he caught assassins trying to sneak in when the moon was high and the stars were out. He smiled at the memories, the look of astonishment on some bounty hunter's face as a boy, who had just hit puberty, sliced the hitman's weapon in two and kicked him to the curb.

Now, however, the palace was pristine and silent. He sensed no lurking spy, not even the rumble of a snoozing guard. The walls were covered in artwork. He passed portrait after portrait of Satine—each a different artistic interpretation. The floor was practically sparkling, and somewhere he heard the tinkling of a fountain. Following the sound, he came to the threshold of a cobbled archway that led to a small garden.

The fountain he had heard stood in the center, with ornate statues spitting out water into a bubbling pool. The elliptic perimeter was covered with plants—flowers, vegetables, miniscule saplings. Three massive, implanted trees shaded the area, blocking the view and forming an organic roof. The moonlight splintered through the branches, making the ground look like a reflection of the constellations that shimmered above.

Marble benches were placed precisely next to the fountain and he made his way toward them. As he approached, he heard sniffling. Someone was here already and, by the sound of it, they were crying.

Unsure what to do, he continued forward cautiously. Maybe this stranger needed help? Rounding the corner of the ostentatious fountain, he saw a flash of pale blonde hair and a sparkle of blue.

"Satine?" he found himself wondering aloud.

Instantly, the Duchess was on her feet, wiping her face and flushing red. The shade of her blush gave her pale, luminous cheeks a touch of rosy color. Obi-wan found himself entranced by the effect, even though she began glaring furiously at him.

"What do you want?" she snapped at him.

Still dressed in her midnight, indigo nightgown, it appeared he wasn't the only one struggling to sleep.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied lightly, taking a seat on the bench.

A frown pulling at her lips, her sanctuary was now compromised. She had half a mind to throw him out, but the evening was already spoiled.

"Well, I leave you to that," she retorted icily.

She began to leave.

"Wait, Satine—"

" _Duchess_ , if you please, master Jedi," she cut in over her shoulder, stopping just before the archway. "Only friends and family call me by first name."

A punch to the gut, Obi-wan nonetheless persisted.

"My apologies, Duchess," he relented, standing and bowing. "It was my belief that we were friends, but I suppose I was mistaken."

"You assume correctly," she answered, her back to him.

"May I ask why that is?" he asked, tightening his crossed arms.

This time, she turned to face him. Her fingers trembled, her knees shook behind the gown, but she was determined to remain as still as possible, to not show any weakness. His brow was furrowed in the same stubborn way. For a moment, she saw the boy behind the man; saw his mischievous grin and carefree expression. Then, he passed away, and faded back into a stranger.

Bitterness surged through her.

"Why indeed?" she finally responded, clenching her fists. "I could ask you the very same question."

"I can expla—"

"Better yet," she cut him off again, anger building. "I could ask you why, after _ten years_ , you're on my doorstep in the middle of the night, without warning, like some lost puppy! Did you really think that just by showing up you could make me forget the last _decade_? I thought you had _died_!"

"Please, let me—"

"But, oh no! Silly me!" she continued with a mangled laugh, far too enraged to stop, her entire form quivering. "You were _fine_! You just _decided_ that I wasn't worth your time any longer. Well, now _I'm deciding_ that you're not worth my time, either!"

Now she was determined to leave him and she whisked back around, stepping through the arch. Her thin nightgown fluttered behind her like wings as she stomped into the hall.

"Sat—Duchess !" Obi-wan called after her, hastening to catch up. "Don't leave! Won't you at least let me explain myself?"

Huffing, Satine quickened her steps.

"You had a decade to do just that," she declared regally. "Why should I listen to you now?"

Dogged, he would not let her have the last word on this. If only she would just let him speak, she would understand. Trailing behind, he kept his distance but would not let her disappear until he pleaded his case.

"But you don't know the whole story," he expounded in a whisper, aware of the early hour. "There was a reason I didn't—"

"There's _always_ a reason, master Kenobi," she sighed tiredly. "Let me guess, some other damsel in distress caught the Jedi's attention and you, always the white knight, ran off to save her? Is that it?"

Despite himself, he smirked at her veiled jealousy.

"You think too highly of me, my dear."

Again, Satine scoffed. He was still just as arrogant. Like a dog, he followed, yapping in her ear—a rustle of brown in her peripheral.

"Fine," she consented sarcastically, clasping her hands in front of her. "Not a damsel, but a floozy. You always had a soft spot for blondes, as I recall."

"Well I can't deny _that_ ," Obi-wan quipped with a lopsided grin and she glanced over her shoulder warningly. "But I'm afraid you're wrong about the rest, Duchess. There were no damsels to be rescued and, I assure you, no women of questionable character to be courted. Nor were there any ruffians or smugglers or cross-dressers—"

"Get to the point," she said, rolling her eyes, lips twitching upward.

"—but there was a devil," Obi-wan finished mysteriously. "A dragon."

Satine's tiny smile faded. She stopped walking and so did he. She turned around reluctantly, fascinated. She peered at him, waiting for him to continue the story. Her pale eyes looked him up and down, suspicious.

Pleased that he had managed to snag her attention, he nonetheless found it difficult still to speak of his haunted past. His grin slipped slightly. It became plastic, a semblance.

"It was a few months after our business here, actually," he told her, holding his cloak close to himself. "During the Trade Federation's occupation of Naboo... do you remember that?"

Satine nodded.

"It was a massacre."

Obi-wan grimaced, his eyes shimmered.

"Yes, I suppose," he conceded as memories flooded through him. "It wasn't all bad, really. At least not until…" he took a breath. "Duchess, do you know what a Sith is?"

She furrowed her brow, trying to remember. It was familiar.

"Not to worry," Obi-wan said obligingly, sensing her struggle. "I think I may have told you, but that was...a long time ago."

"Doesn't it have something to do with the Jedi?" she attempted.

"Yes," he confirmed and his tongue smacked with distaste for the subject. "But it's _not_ a Jedi. It is just the opposite. A Sith is a follower of the Dark Side, whereas a Jedi is a follower of the Light. We are ancient enemies, but the Sith Order fell long ago after a bitter war. Their ranks scattered throughout the galaxy and they have not shown themselves in many years. But on Naboo…there was one there that day. His name was Darth Maul."

Out of his brain, the image of the Sith came to the forefront of Obi-wan's thoughts. With jagged, zig-zagged, black stripes raining down his bright red face, gnarled antlers jutted out of his devilish head. His eyes were a ferocious yellow, with the whites bloodshot and cruel. Over and over again, Obi-wan recollected as the beast struck down Qui-Gon, felt his own rage and fear bubble up inside him as he witnessed it.

Those eyes…eyes which watched Obi-wan hungrily, waiting for the ray shield to drop, bloodthirsty.

"He killed Qui-Gon," Obi-wan said with a faraway face.

Satine gasped quietly and pressed a heavy hand to her chest. Her resentment vanished.

The sound brought Obi-wan back to himself, but he still couldn't shake the image of Maul's eyes from his mind. They had troubled his dreams for years afterward. Even now, he still would wake up occasionally in a cold sweat, only remembering the violence of Maul's yellow glare as it seared through him.

"After that, I, uh, couldn't…" he continued, trailing off profoundly. "Well, it was a difficult time."

Feeling as if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders, he straightened his back and molded his features back into their calm, nonchalant demeanor. Satine, on the other hand, felt rather imprudent and silly for her attitude. Even after nursing the wound of his absence for years, it was hard to stay mad when Obi-wan was surrendering painful memories to her.

"It still doesn't excuse my behavior," he finished seriously. "I was selfish and cowardly. Will you forgive me?"

Throat tight, Satine preferred to answer that question with a rib-cracking hug. She rushed forward before he could react and, suddenly, her arms were wrapped around him. It lasted only a moment, she pulled away almost as soon as she made contact with him, but he found he was quite dumbfounded.

"Er, I'll take that as a yes?" he yelped an octave higher than his usual voice, flustered.

For the first time, Satine laughed, whole and pure. It was always fun to see him taken off-guard. He put on a mask, but she knew the boyish soul lurking beneath it. He was still just the same and that fact gave her a burst of happiness. She had missed him terribly.

Shaking his head, he crossed his arms tightly and began to scowl, hating that he was being made fun of.

"Didn't anyone ever warn you not to go around… _hugging_ people? It's dangerous," he grumbled with a smirk. "Especially for you, Duchess."

"Yes, I believe you're right, Obi-wan. I recall that many of the bloodiest wars have been caused by _rogue hugs_ ," she joked in a mockingly serious tone, chuckling to herself.

At the sound of his name, his spirits lifted all the more.

"I defer to your knowledge on the matter, Duchess," Obi-wan retorted, pleased.

"Please," she stated, beaming. "Call me Satine."


	3. Moonstruck

**A/N: Let me know what you think so far!~ :)**

* * *

The Duchess and the Knight spoke all night. Each parried back and forth as they told their respective tales of what they had done in the last ten years. Satine told him of all the troubles, trials, and successes of a Mandalore finally at peace, while Obi-wan regaled her with accounts about his adventures and his new charge, Anakin.

The decade-thick ice had finally begun to thaw. At the outbreak of dawn, Obi-wan snuck back into his quarters and collapsed, woozy with joy, upon his bed. He felt light as a feather, practically floating. The shame and sadness he had harbored for ten years concerning Satine melted.

He slept through the day and awakened as the sun began its descent. A knock sounded at his door, startling him out of a deep, dreamless slumber.

With a start—his beard a tangled mess and his clothes twisted—he blearily answered. A handmaiden of Satine stood before him. She was incredibly dainty, a tiny thing, yet there was a strength in her shoulders and a toughness about her jaw that only a longtime palace servant of Mandalore could have.

She raised a critical brow at his disheveled appearance but did not censure him about. Instead, she told him that there was a meal and a Duchess waiting for him. Then, she walked hastily away, not even giving the Jedi a chance to thank her.

Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his messy hair nervously. He did not bring any spare clothes, for he did not think he would be spending more than one night. Nevertheless, he tried to straighten his crumpled tunic and cloak out with his hands as best he could. Combing his beard and bedhead with his fingers, he wondered if he had time to bathe.

He took a whiff of his undershirt and immediately snorted in disgust. Sighing, he supposed he didn't have a choice now.

So, he soaked his earth-toned clothes in warm, soapy water and hung them out to dry. He then plopped himself in the bath and scrubbed his calloused, perpetually dirtied skin raw. Then, he tousled his damp, golden-brown hair, trying to get it just the way he liked—parted precisely on the right and just a tad unkempt. He then used his fingers to untangle the matting in his beard, smoothing it down as best he could.

When he finally stepped out the door forty-five minutes later, the sun was a whisper on the horizon. The same handmaiden was waiting for him in the hall, appearing mildly annoyed by his lateness.

"This way, master Jedi," she said in a high-pitched, tight voice.

Once more, she did not wait for his answer and strode briskly away. He had to jog to catch up with her. Although he was a foot taller than her, she outpaced him considerably. Her petite feet were a blur under her white, stiff dress. The heels of her shoes clacked furiously— _clickclickclickclick._

Like most Mandalorians, she was blonde, but her eyes were large and dark like an owl's. Her nose, which was held snootily in the air as she walked, was upturned at the end, making her seem even more like an elf.

She kept a firm silence as the two of them voyaged down the long expanse. Obi-wan wondered what he had done to deserve her obvious dislike. He had never laid eyes on the woman before today and she was treating him like he was a plague-ridden rat!

"So," he spoke into the awkward quiet, rubbing the back of his neck. "What's for dinner?"

With a quick snap of her practically black eyes, she looked back at him over her rigidly straightened shoulders. Then, she harrumphed haughtily. It sounded like an angry squeak.

"You'll see," she replied shortly.

Perplexed, Obi-wan lifted a confounded brow. She seemed to truly hate him.

"Well I'm sure it will be delicious," he complimented pathetically, attempting to soften her up.

Stopping abruptly, she whisked around and glowered menacingly up at him.

"What's tha' supposed to mean? Don't think my cookin' is up to your standards, _master_ Jedi?"

Recoiling, Obi-wan took a step back from the tiny, furious woman.

"No, no of course not! Wait, I mean—" he sputtered as an embarrassing heat rushed to his cheeks.

"The Duchess will see you now," she cut him off, jerking her stony chin at the door beside her.

Then, she spun back around and ticked away. Obi-wan watched her go, completely baffled. As she turned a corner out of sight, he sighed and shook his head.

"Mandalorians…" he muttered to himself with an eye roll.

They certainly were a prickly bunch, and still suspicious of Jedi, it seemed.

Suddenly, the door whisked open, making him flinch. Haloed by firelight that crackled behind her, Duchess Satine stared at him with an amused look, a lithe hand on her hip.

"Have you been standing out _here_ this whole time?" she mused with a smirk.

She was dressed in a long-sleeved gown of layered gossamer, lilac and magenta—the colors of the most vibrant springtime flower. She wore a silvery circlet encrusted with a brilliant cobalt stone in the middle. Adorning the sides of the tiara, sticking out behind her head, were what appeared to be butterfly wings. They weaved through her elegantly styled, star-kissed hair.

A thick, dark ribbon was tied around her slim throat and Obi-wan noted the glimmer of silver rings twinkling in his peripheral.

The sight of her looking so dazzling made his tongue swollen. For a moment, all he could do was gape awkwardly. His astonished expression made her grin all the more.

Then, he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the unbearable tightness there.

"You look…" he started, his palms sweaty and hidden chin trembling. "…beautiful."

She giggled and Obi-wan blushed madly. He wished he had worn his robe so he could tuck his arms into the sleeves self-consciously. Despite his insecurities, Satine thought him very handsome in his white Jedi Knight uniform. A dark brown undershirt peeked just above his collar and his lightsaber hung characteristically on his worn belt. Cracked, leather boots told of his many adventures across the galaxy.

"Won't you come in?" she asked politely, beckoning him into the warm room.

Grateful that she took mercy on him, he inclined his head and strode past her. The door closed quietly behind him with a click as Satine followed. There was no one else there, which surprised him. Mandalore had certainly changed from its war-torn, high-security days.

Waiting for her command, Obi-wan stood in the center of the cozy, circular room. A soft, ornamental rug carpeted the floor, scenic landscapes were painted all about, and a round table was filled with Mandalorian delicacies. The intimacy of the setting set his pulse racing and his forehead sweating.

He swallowed thickly. The fire's warmth tickled his damp hair, drying it.

Satine waltzed by and plopped nimbly—like a doe—into a stylish chair at the table. Obi-wan couldn't get his cemented feet to move. He began to feel very out of his league around her. Their childhood friendship was a faint flicker in the back of his head. He could sense their relationship shifting.

"Please," she invited, motioning to a place across from her. "Sit."

Knees shaking, he obeyed, collapsing, fumbling, into his designated seat. She lifted a perfect brow at his nervousness, yet did not mock him for it. In fact, she was stunned by it. She could not recall a time when he had been so obviously uncomfortable.

His weathered hands were placed resolutely in his lap, he didn't dare meet her eyes—they would surely melt him, entrance him.

His nervousness seeped, spread like an infection.

"You can eat," she nudged him gently, hoping that it would loosen his tight, grimaced lips.

Instantly, he poured himself a tall glass of water and downed it. The fire in the grate made the atmosphere stuffy, suffocating. Puzzled, Satine snatched her fork up and nibbled docilely on her food as she silently studied him.

He took another swig and imitated her. There was a horrid queasiness twisting his stomach. His fingers quaked as he stabbed the plate in front of him.

"Do you not like it?" Satine wondered, eyes wide. "I could fetch you something else…"

"No, no," he assured hastily with a choked voice. "It's...great."

To prove his point he wolfed down a slab of what appeared to be some kind of meat. It had a bitter taste and chewy, fatty texture. Inadvertently, he wrinkled his nose as he munched it.

Satine bit back a snigger as he struggled to swallow.

"Mmm…" he hummed appreciatively, finally managing to choke the thing down.

He felt it slide grotesquely into his stomach and repressed a shudder.

"Tasty," he coughed.

Satine couldn't stand it any longer and laughed long and hard. Tears sprang into her eyes as she bowled over, shoulders shaking. At first frowning, her contagious laughter spread to Obi-wan and he chortled along.

"Oh, Obi-wan," she finally managed to sigh. "I have _missed_ you."

Feeling more relaxed, Obi-wan sat back contently in his chair.

"I _do_ tend to have that effect on people," he joked, flashing his usual smirk.

She snorted and they both giggled some more. The conversation progressed rapidly from there, reviving from the night before. By the end of the meal, it was rapidly approaching midnight and still they chattered—teasing one another and snickering like school children. The partially-eaten dishes forgotten, the pair strolled through the palace, shoulder to shoulder. The Duchess took him on a tour, showing him her throne and the many wings of the citadel.

As she presented one particular workroom having to do with the arts—paintings, sculptures, and architectural plans—she felt her lids become heavy. She loosed a long yawn.

She had not been able to sleep in as Obi-wan had and the previous late night was beginning to take its toll. In gentlemanly fashion, the Jedi walked her to the front door of her quarters. His hand lightly gripped her elbow.

Grinning like fools, the two faced each other at the threshold—their long-winded conversation had ebbed.

"How long do you plan to stay?" she asked him.

Obi-wan shrugged jadedly.

"As long as you'll have me, I suppose."

"Won't your Masters be angry?" Satine pressed. "What about your padawan?"

He shook his head and a strand of his sun-kissed hair bounced over his brow.

"If they need me, they'll call," he responded ambiguously. "And Anakin will be fine. It'll be a good learning experience in independence. I won't always be there to hold his hand."

"If you say so," Satine conceded. "I just don't want to cause you any trouble."

Cocky, sparkling teeth peeked from beneath his beard.

"Trouble is my specialty."

She rolled her cerulean eyes—a swirl of sky blue. What a walking cliché he was.

"You are, without a doubt, the most—"

"—handsome, dazzling, extraordinary—" he imposed, waggling his thick, chestnut eyebrows.

"— _absurd_ ," she corrected. "Man I've ever had the pleasure to know."

Considering, he stroked his furry chin in mock reflection. Then, with the quickness of a striking snake, he leaned over, one arm behind his back, and snatched her sidelined hand in his. She did not fight him, playing along good naturedly.

"Coming from you, my dear," he said, bringing her trapped fingers to his mouth, murmuring into them. "That's the highest honor I could hope to achieve."

Then, he placed a light, feathery kiss upon her pale knuckles and released. Smirking in victory, he noticed as a blush blinked onto her countenance. Pursing her lips, she glowered at him but it was a semblance. Inside, her heart was attempting to flutter out of her ribcage.

"If that's true, then you really _are_ a lost cause," she rejoined, the back of her hand tingling from where his lips had touched it. "It's a wonder how you survived all these years."

"Yes," he agreed, feigning seriousness. "I _am_ a wonder."

Her scoff transformed into a yawn.

"As fun as this is," she mused teasingly. "I'm afraid I'll be poor company soon."

"Your company is never poor, Satine," Obi-wan remarked politely, shrewdly. "But it _is_ getting late."

Gratefully, she nodded.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"I have court most of the day, but you may tag along if you wish," she said, stifling another yawn. "But it's not the most _entertaining_ thing in the world. It's probably quite dull compared to what you're used to, master Jedi."

"We'll see about that," he challenged, intrigued. "It can't be worse than a Senate filibuster."

"Mm," she purred tiredly.

Obi-wan barked a small chuckle before he bowed, bending.

"Good night, Duchess," he professed courteously. "Pleasant dreams."

Then, with a dramatic, ironic twirl of his hand, he stepped away and proceeded down the dim corridor. She had a remarkable effect upon him. Like the night before, his feet were light as clouds. Indeed, he felt as if he would float away any second, disappearing into the nighttime sky with a moonstruck titter.

Sleepily, Satine watched him. With a smile, she shook her head at his back, turned, and strode into her rooms.


	4. Crossroads

For the next few days, Obi-wan accompanied the Duchess as she presided over Mandalore.

The throne room was the most impressive, and largest, section of the palace—several fighters could land comfortably within it. Windows and one large mural of Satine made up the entire western wall. When the sun was high, the tiled ground became painted with rainbows, prisms.

The cathedra itself was quaint and blocky. It sat upon a platform with a shallow, cobbled stair beneath, leading to it. Visitors would kneel before the first step before they addressed the Duchess. Obi-wan had the privilege to replace one of her guards and stood on her left.

Satine had been right—throne room legislation _was_ painfully boring. Nevertheless, simply being around her made it fun. If a meeting became dull and flat, she would raise a knowing, laugh-inducing brow at him or mutter a quip under her breath. A few times, he had to cover his mouth to muffle the sound of his snorts.

After court, the two would relax at the garden where they had met the first night of his stay, or in one of the empty rooms around the palace. They kept to themselves, eschewing the company of the servants and politicians when they could, preferring to converse with one another. Satine never knew when Obi-wan would have to leave and tried to make the most of his visit. He did the same in turn.

The days dwindled by, turning into a week, then another week, and another. A month blinked by. It was some of the happiest times of each of their lives. Obi-wan's affection for Satine grew, blossomed, and spread like weeds. At night, he found himself yearning for her company and was eager to fall asleep quickly so he could start another blissful day with her.

He knew he should have left earlier. He was becoming dangerously attached to this place, to the Duchess. Yet, he could not make himself leave. Every time he planned to vanish in the middle of the night, the image of her face in tears would halt his feet and grip his heart in an iron vice. It was cowardly to leave without an explanation, he told himself.

So, turning a blind eye, he continued down the dangerous path he had gotten himself on. Guilt plagued his mind—what would Qui-Gon say?—but it soon disappeared whenever he was around her. He became dependent on her presence to chase away his years of Jedi training screaming at him to get out, to detach before it was too late.

Then, came the much expected, but nonetheless dreaded, day where Obi-wan received a long-ranged transmission from Coruscant.

His Masters had found him at last.

Satine watched curiously as he stepped out of the throne room in the middle of a meeting with a particularly leaden Trade Federation representative. He did not return.

She found him in their usual hideaway—the small garden on her floor. He sat on one of the cold, hard benches, elbows on his knees, head downcast. Even before she asked, she knew this was his last night on Mandalore with her. She took a spot next to him. He made room, but did not speak.

"When?" she asked in the heavy silence.

With wide, unseeing eyes he peered up at her. The vacancy, the hollowness, in his stare surprised her.

"Tomorrow," he said gruffly, rubbing his face, crinkling his forehead. "I have a mission."

"Oh," was all she said.

He gave a tight nod.

"Where?" she pondered in a whisper.

" _To be determined_ ," he repeated bitterly and then heaved a sigh. "Looks like my holiday is up."

"Looks like it," Satine said with a small, sad smile. "But we knew it couldn't last forever, Obi. You have a whole other life to get back to and I'm sure your padawan misses you terribly."

Obi-wan _did_ miss the kid and he wondered how much trouble Anakin had gotten into during his Master's absence.

 _It'll be a miracle if he didn't destroy the Temple_...the Knight grumbled in his head.

Nonetheless, Obi-wan did not want to see logic. His stubborn heart longed for something beyond his stars, something completely unobtainable to a Jedi: forbidden fruit.

"I guess," he muttered dejectedly, teeth grinding. "I just…I just _wish_ …"

He looked away from her. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What? What is it?"

The warmth of her palm on him sent an electric shock jolting through his core. Out of body, out of his mind, he placed his hand over hers and squeezed, wanting to hold her close to him forever.

"It's stupid," he mumbled, keeping his face turned in shame. "It's _impossible_ ," he corrected himself in a snarl.

Unable to speak the language of his heart, he hoped his face would betray his confliction. He looked up at her with a broken, pleading gaze. She had to understand, had to _see_ how plain it all was. Indeed, she did, even more than he guessed.

A Jedi Knight bound by his vow and a Duchess imprisoned by her position—they were a perfect match.

Out of nowhere, a magnet connected them, pulling them together. On a rope, their heads bent toward each other. Instinct began to take over, clouding out all reason.

Before his sense could completely disappear, a warning bleated in the back of his mind: " _STOP! STOP! STOP!"_ it wailed.

With a cry, he sprang to his feet, leaving her stunned, leaning emptily forward.

"I…c _an't_ , Satine," he groaned, putting his face in his hands. "I…it's _impossible_."

A part of her heart cracked, but she kept her face from reflecting the pain that coursed in her chest; however, Satine had not expected him to come easily. She knew what she felt, what she wanted—had known it for a long time. It was Obi-wan that needed to be persuaded, not her.

So, the time had come at last for her to do just that. If she didn't try now, it would never be.

"Only if you believe it is," Satine replied perceptively, her voice barely above a peep.

Taken aback, he flipped around deftly. Did she…did she _feel_ the same way?! About _him_?! Sensing the Force, his every instinct confirmed it.

 _Does it matter?_ a miniscule, stubborn part of his thoughts barked. _Even if she did love you, you could never be with her._

"You…you really _believe_ …?" he questioned in disbelief, putting a stunned hand to his forehead.

"I do," she said, getting to her feet wearily. "And it was never about me, Obi. It's always been _you_."

Satine's features were unreadable, he couldn't comprehend, couldn't get his brain to wrap around the fact that she actually had feelings for him. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that she would.

Despite this, she had nevertheless been preparing this speech for a while, for she had known that this day would come. From his first moments on her small, seemingly insignificant, planet she knew he was different, meant for her somehow. It had been like stumbling upon a missing puzzle piece. Then, he slipped away from her. She thought she had lost him forever.

The joy of recovering him again was tempered by his nature, his destiny—he had made himself unattainable. As a Jedi, he would forever be just out of her reach.

Foolishly, she had waited and hoped beyond hope that he would finally see her for what she was, that he would recognize that she had been waiting for him in the shadows. His return was a sign that perhaps he was beginning to regain his sight.

Thus, now was the precise moment for him to realize that they—that _he_ —had, at last, arrived at the crossroads. The choice now rested with him, and him alone. She would follow his direction, even if she loathed it. There was no other choice. She could not force his hand, could not drag him.

"What—what do you mean?" he asked, dumbfounded.

His vivid, burning cobalt irises pierced the dusk, searching her.

Satine walked away as she spoke.

"I'm not the one you have to convince, Obi-wan," Satine explained cryptically as she approached the shadowed archway that led back into the palace. "You've always been your worst enemy, and this is no exception. If you want to pursue _this_ — _us_ —you'll know where to find me. If not…I'll understand. But if you _do_ leave now…"

Placing a hand on the stone threshold, she paused.

"…don't return."

Then, without another word, she left him. He did not see the tears leaking down her ashen cheeks or the way her body shook with each step. The words that had spewed from her mouth tasted bitter and poisonous, but they were inevitable. She could not cling to an ideal. Reality had to be faced and this was it.

As she disappeared out of sight, Obi-wan stumbled, hollowed, to the fountain and buckled next to it, peering at his wavering reflection. This was, indeed, a crossroads, but he had no idea which path to pursue. On one side was his chosen identity as a Jedi Knight along with his solemn promise to keep the Order's law. On the other hand was Satine.

The water glittered, rippled, as it blubbered at him. He watched it recycle around and around endlessly from pool, to pipes, and, finally, out of a sculpted fish's mouth.

With a twinge of melancholy, he realized that the water would never escape. It was destined to be imprisoned within the ornamental, rocky walls forever.

Just like him.

 _Unless_ …he thought to himself, a strange feeling boiling in his gut.

With a wave of his hand and a surge of power, one of the expertly carved stones of the fountain cracked, splintered down the middle. Water spurted out and leaked onto the marbled ground.

* * *

Satine sat on the edge of her bed, clutching the frame, staring at the carpet. Her red, puffy eyes followed the floral pattern of the rug over and over again. Paralyzed, she couldn't face falling asleep just yet. It would steal precious hours—hours where Obi-wan was still under her roof.

It was absurd, she knew, to feel this way. An hour was a blip; time raced on despite her. In one hundred years, the moments she spent agonizing over him would be meaningless. It would not affect a thing, she told herself.

Suddenly, a light, almost infinitesimal knock rapped at the door. With a sigh, she supposed it was her faithful, yet overly anxious, handmaiden coming back to check on her.

"Go away, Ellem," she called out. "I'm…" her spirit cracked. "…fine."

Satine closed her eyes. Her temples and ribcage pounded, ached. Her throat was tightening as if in the coils of a viper. The feeling of heartbreak was not new, but it had been a while since it was this potent. Screwing up her face, she dreaded the bleak nights ahead of her.

A knock sounded again. Satine groaned in exasperation.

"It's ok, Ell!" she exclaimed a bit louder, curling her toes and munching her molars. "I'm fine! I promis—"

"I very much doubt that."

Her eyes snapped open and widened.

Obi-wan stood in the doorway, framed. There was an abnormal, bizarre look etched upon his features—one that stared at her hungrily, famished. His jaw was locked tight, his blazing stare was narrowed in complete focus, and he looked like he was about to leap through the ceiling—coiled, tensed, ready to strike, and aimed right at her.

Tentatively, she rose, keeping as still as a rabbit caught in the stare of a wolf. The vibrations he gave off were electrifying the atmosphere, charging every nerve.

"Obi—?"

Surging forward in a carnivorous bound, he cut her ponderous words off with an earth-shattering, destiny-altering kiss. His hands cradled her face as he pressed into her. The walls crashed down.

Amazed, brainwaves spiraling, she returned the embrace instinctively, mindlessly. Her fingers knitted through his hair as her arms locked around his sturdy neck.

In response, he leaned further forward and his hands glided down to encompass her waist gingerly. This was new territory.

Obi-wan could feel her rapid-fire pulse pounding against his own, each competing for dominance. He could sense his own will to resist her dissolving into the night without a trace. A sound which he had never heard before rumbled from the center of his chest, tearing through his throat—a growl, a greedy snarl.

He needed more of her— _more, more, more!_ his blood cried. There wasn't enough of Satine, there would never be enough for him. They paused, parting, panting. They stared at one another before the cusp, the edge of the world—blue on blue. Yet, they couldn't stop now. A force unparalleled, a gravitational pull inescapable, crushed them back together.

Then they were falling, falling, falling—a tangle of limbs and longing.

* * *

In the gloom, Obi-wan awoke, nostrils flaring. He lay flat on his back, one hand thrown behind him while the other was under Satine. His fingers gripped her soft shoulder. An unusually pleasant sensation was gnawing at him, pulsating and churning within.

Satine lay next to him, her sleeping face turned toward him on the bed they shared. One of her long, slender hands clung to his bare chest possessively. Her iridescent hair glistened in the dying starlight pooling from the slits in the curtain that covered her window. He stared at the tendrils as they twisted softly upon her cheekbones, spread like rivers across the pillow. A stray blonde strand sliced across her closed eyelids.

Gently, with the tenderness of bird's wings, he flicked it away, tugged at it, and tucked it back into the fold. She mumbled but did not stir.

In this temporary bubble, the inevitable guilt at what he had done did not come just yet. It brewed like a gathering storm on the far skyline of his mind. Clinging onto the remaining moments of bliss, he lay still, hardly breathed, as he watched her skin sparkle in the changing light of early dawn. Hours passed. He did not notice them. Shadows stretched and loomed as the morning became later and later.

When she finally awoke, he had practically memorized the rhythm of her breath. He could recite the beats of her heart and predict the twitch of her eyes as they dreamed beneath her translucent lids. Like the sun ascending over the horizon, her glittering, pale cerulean irises blinked to life. They stared at him, reflected his face. Mindlessly, he traced a circle on her shoulder blade with his fingers.

Without having to say words, they both knew the gravity of their actions. It sat like a boulder above their heads, growing closer to smashing them the longer they stayed beneath it.

He had to go.

She knew this.

He loved her.

She knew this, too.

A tear escaped from the corner of her eye. His trapped arm unloosed itself. Dutifully, he wiped the sparkling drop away with his thumb, caressing her drawn face. She leaned sadly into his palm, frowning, and wrapped her fingers around his arm, anchoring him. Shifting closer, he placed a tender kiss upon her porcelain brow. He inhaled her flowered fragrance, imprinting it forever in his memory. His other hand accompanied its brother as it cradled her head.

Nose to nose, eyes to eyes, face to face, he grinned his lopsided smile at her and she returned it grudgingly.

He stole one more kiss, this time from her lips. She returned it passionately, trying to persuade him, thoughtlessly, to stay. At her intensity, he chuckled and pulled away, chiding. Satine sighed, but knew she had to at least try to convince him. Still smiling, he got out of the bed, sliding in between the sheets.

Her eyes followed him, but she did not protest. She could not ask more from him. He had already given much, too much.

Vengefully, time fast-forwarded. Soon, Obi-wan was dressed and ready, standing on one of the palace's landing platforms, his dusty ship looming behind him. A pair of masked, cloaked, and armed guards escorted her as she went out to say her goodbyes. An early, icy wind whisked through her tailored hair, ruffled his amber beard, as they faced one another one last time.

He could not embrace her like he wanted, but he did manage to sneak one last gift. Not breaking eye contact, he bowed humbly before her and took her limp, trembling hand in his. He turned it over and placed a small, woven, leather band in the palm. He had crafted it painstakingly his first time on her planet—it was one of his padawan hair-ties that he had kept as a memento all these years.

She recognized it and suppressed a sniffle.

He closed her elegant, decorated fingers around it and squeezed, stifling her quiver. Poignantly, he stared deeply at her, trying to transfer his confidence and affection. Then, he lifted her closed fist to his mouth. His furry lip grazed her knuckles.

"Goodbye, my dear Satine," he mumbled into her clenched hand.

He released her. The arm flopped to her side despairingly but the fingers remained curled securely around his parting gift. She inhaled a deep, shuddering breath, unsure if she could even speak.

"Goodbye, Obi-wan," she choked, biting her cheek straight through to stop the tears. "My love."

The wind kept her words from reaching the ears of her sentries, but Obi-wan felt them swarm around him, envelop him. A burst of warm, glowing joy sprouted from his center, seeping into every pore. His strained smirk became a beam of sunshine, a stark contrast against his darker whiskers. Its effect strengthened her weakened spirits and she crinkled her cloudburst eyes at him lovingly.

He bowed deeply to her one last time and turned away. He trudged up the hissing, fogged ramp of his fighter, and vanished from her sight. The lift rose slowly into the belly of the ship and clanked in finality as it connected with it. The windows were tinted, but Satine could just make out his dark form as he lifted a hand to her in farewell.

Regally, she returned it with a small, lackluster wave.

The engines sparked to life, a flush of heat jetted into the windswept air. The ship began to levitate. It rose, rose, rose, arching into the breathtakingly clear skies. Satine watched it as long as she could. She saw as it became the size of a dime, then a pin, and, finally, winked out of visibility. Even still, she stared, her chin lifted vertically as she strained to see. Feeling infinitesimal, ant-like, she lowered her gaze and put her clenched hand to her chest, holding onto his presence as long as she could.


	5. Three

**A/N: This part jumps around a bit. Hope it's not too frenzied! :)**

* * *

 _4 Years Later_

"Keep sharp," Obi-wan whispered into the unnerving silence.

Anakin nodded. His severe, narrowed eyes flicked side-to-side.

The two Jedi crept through the graveyard jungle, searching for a sign of life. A black fog hung over the warped, skeletal trees, blocking out the meager light. With sky the color of deep red, tainted blood, and soil the shade of ashes, Dathomir lived up to its sinister reputation.

The pair tracked a former inhabitant of the planet, a Nightbrother—Savage Opress. He had left a trail of mangled corpses behind him, leading the grizzled Obi-wan and the man-child Anakin—who was already becoming a legend of the Clone Wars—to the monster's nefarious, infamous home.

The strangled cries of faceless wildlife cricketed all about. They snapped, snarled, and watched from the shadows of the bleak forest. Obi-wan felt more than just the animals' gazes upon him, however. He sensed a flurry of motion, a chorus of lethal tip-toes, leaping in the branches above. The image of glowing, green eyes haunted his mind.

 _Nightsisters_ …he thought with a furrowed brow.

He could not see them, but he could feel their foul magic—and their knocked, poison-tipped arrows—aimed at his head. He did not particularly enjoy their intruding company, but he supposed they were still suspiciously hostile after the Jedi's meeting with their coven matron, Mother Talzin. Obi-wan had managed to twist her arm into telling him what he wanted: the location of the village where Savage Opress had come from.

How much she obliged him and how much he influenced her, Obi-wan did not know. Mother Talzin never did anything for free.

Nevertheless, the witch had sent them on their way, pointing them in the direction of Savage's former home. The Dathomirian culture was intensely matriarchal. The sexes were kept rigidly separated, with the men miles away from the women.

 _If you can even call them women,_ Obi-wan snorted to himself.

Indeed, the Nightsisters were not known for their beauty, but for their ruthlessness. With the lanky, lithe bodies of snakes, skin akin to a frostbitten corpse, and eyes that rivaled the blackest of midnights as they glared through blood-red hoods—the Sisters instilled terror with a single glance.

The men were not much better.

If the Nightsisters were a slithering swarm of bleached vipers, then the Nightbrothers were their devil-antlered, bestial counterparts. Maul had been a Dathomirian, and Obi-wan did not look forward to meeting more of the Sith's kind after venturing to this forsaken planet. The Dark Side's stench permeated throughout the place, suffocating and vile.

"I'm definitely gonna need a shower after this…" Anakin grumbled, in sync with Obi-wan's sentiments.

"Just burn your clothes," Obi-wan mumbled back, his hand hovering over the lightsaber swinging at his belt.

Skywalker smirked and the scar that carved down through his right eye crinkled. A peel of quiet laughter reverberated somewhere behind the Jedi. They did not look around, but kept walking as calmly as they could. Reacting out of emotion now would only land them in more trouble—the Nightsisters reveled in the hunt.

The bug-infested air was thick and muggy and still. It weighed heavily upon them, an extra load. Alien gnats encircled them like tiny vultures waiting impatiently for a meal.

"How much longer—?" Anakin began to ask, glowering.

"Quiet!" Obi-wan hissed, stopping dead in his tracks.

He heard a sound just ahead. A tangle of thorny, deadened bushes blocked the rest of the spindly path, but Obi-wan could sense a throng of bodies in the distance. Motioning for Anakin to follow, he crouched low to the famished, fallow ground, and tiptoed forward. Not making a sound, he parted the barbed shrub with his gloved hand and peered from the shadows.

Murky silhouettes sprouted on the horizon. Outlines of huts enclosed a large circle, surrounding a small bonfire that illuminated faintly in the dark. From here, Obi-wan could just make out the knotted antlers of the Nightbrothers as they assembled and wrestled about the encampment.

They had found the origin of Savage Opress.

* * *

"You've got me! I surrender!"

Satine fell onto her back playfully, laughing. Stumbling and bumbling toward her was a chubby toddler with a mess of chestnut hair. Face masked in concentration, the little one managed to stagger her wobbly legs over to the downed Duchess and land victoriously upon the woman's belly.

"Gah' chu," the tiny thing announced proudly with sparkling amber eyes.

"Hmm, so it would seem," Satine conceded with a mischievous grin. "But you forgot _one_ thing, my fierce little cub…"

Falling for it, the child cocked her head.

"Was tha'?" she squeaked.

"That we Mandalorians _never_ surrender!"

And with that, Satine snatched the small girl up and proceeded to blow raspberries onto her stomach. Giggling and squealing madly, the tot flailed and kicked about, unable to free herself from her mother's grasp.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Halting her attack, Satine peered up and saw Ellem, her trusted servant, standing in the archway. In the new silence, the gurgle of the old fountain whispered on the air. The child stopped giggling, but became entranced by the running, spewing water. She made a noise of complaint, wanting to be let down. Satine mindlessly obliged as Ellem approached.

"Sorry to intrude on you, miss," the small woman apologized. "But you've got word from general Markus."

Holding out her hand, Ellem placed the communicator in Satine's waiting palm. With a distressed thank you from the Duchess, Ellem scampered off. Keeping one eye on the child, who was busy trying to snatch a tadpole from the swirling pool, Satine flicked on the transmission.

One of her soldiers, a tall, hulking man dressed in traditional Mandalorian armor waited for her. He held his battle-scarred helmet under his arm, revealing his equally worn face. Although it was impossible to tell from the bluish hue of the hologram, Satine knew that his hair was stubbled grey and his hazel eyes were kind.

Upon seeing her, he inclined his head.

"Your majesty," he said in a low, grizzled voice.

"General," she responded ceremoniously. "How goes the search?"

The see-through Markus shifted his feet.

"Not well," he admitted with a tired sigh. "The Death Watch aren't making it easy on us. There's not a trace of them left in the city, but I would bet my pension on it that they're still here, hidin' under a rock."

It was not the news she wanted to hear, but Satine kept her features from portraying her increasing worry.

"That is…unfortunate," she agreed. "What can you tell me about the danger they pose to my people?"

Markus crossed his arms and practically growled. The general was a good man and hated the fact that the treacherous Death Watch still posed a substantial threat to Mandalorian stability. That's why Satine greatly esteemed him. He had always seen the bigger picture: a Mandalore free from centuries-old stigma, a planet at peace and united after so many wars between archaic factions.

This, however, was not a goal the Death Watch shared. They wanted a return to the good old days of glorious battle, where honor was won through conflict and whoever held the biggest stick ruled the conquered with an iron fist.

"I wouldn't put it past those traitors to pull something soon," Markus consented, and Satine could see his shoulders hunch. "But for now, they're tryin' real hard to keep under the radar."

Disappointed but undaunted, the Duchess nodded.

"Thank you, general," Satine smiled warmly. "I'm sure Pre Vizsla's minions will rear their heads soon enough."

"And when they do, they won't be escapin' us again," Markus promised stoutly, shoving his helmet back on.

"I trust you, Markus."

The veteran general saluted and bowed, hand over his heart as his image blurred and vanished.

Satine let her face fall, revealing the extent of her anxiety. She put a mechanical hand to her mouth and stared worriedly into space. What if the Death Watch did something rash? What if they, gods forbid, hurt or killed someone? If she couldn't protect her subjects, how could she call herself Duchess?

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she should ask the Jedi for assistance. Obi-wan would know what to do.

Frustrated, she shook her head, dismissing the thought. He was fighting a galactic-wide war. Plus, from what she heard, he was an invaluable piece of the Republic's forces. She couldn't tear him away from the front to help her with an internal affair, especially after her staunch refusal to enter the ghastly Clone Wars.

There was also the obstacle of...

Satine's eyes glided over to the girl at the fountain and felt her disquiet fester all the more.

 _He can't find out_ , a stalwart part of her declared. _It would ruin him._

 _But he has a right to know!_ another side pointed out. _We_ _can't keep it a secret forever._

 _They'll expel him! They'll take away everything from him! He'll be crushed._

 _He might understand…_

 _He'll resent us._

 _What if he…?_

 _No. We can't. It's too risky._

 _He's busy with the war now, but what if he returns? He'll want to know where she came from._

 _Lie._

 _He'll know. He's a Jedi!_

 _Lie well._

Suddenly, with a loud cry, the child hit the water, spraying it everywhere. A droplet splashed against Satine, bringing her back to reality. Shaking her head, she resolved to make a decision at a later time. Who knew how long the war would last?

"Sabine, dear," she crooned to the naughty girl, crooking her finger. "Come here."

Whipping her head around, Sabine gave her mother a rueful look and waddled over.

"Sowwee, mama," the child mumbled.

Reaching forward, Satine picked her daughter up and tickled her protruding, rounded belly. Sabine sniggered and wrapped her plump arms around the Duchess's neck, burying her head. Satine hummed a lullaby as she began walking toward her quarters. On the way, the girl fell asleep. Her arms still clung resolutely to her singing mother as the two entered the bedroom.

Striding to a crib on the far side of the room, hidden by a velvet curtain, Satine lay the slumbering child down and tucked her in. Sabine gurgled, drooled, but remained blessedly asleep. Before she retired herself, the Duchess stared down at the little creature, noticing every feature.

From a first impression, Sabine appeared dissimilar from her pale mother. When the girl first arrived to the world, Satine thought she looked more like her sister, Bo-Katan, than her. Sabine had Bo's same penetrating amber gaze and her creamy olive skin had a propensity to tan; however, the more Satine studied her, the more she saw herself...and Obi-wan.

Perhaps she did not share the couple's stunning azure irises, but she did have the Jedi's problem-solving nature, his roguish smirk, and his chestnut locks. Sometimes she paralleled her father so closely in the way she smiled, that the Duchess couldn't believe she ever doubted it.

From her mother, Sabine inherited a straight, long nose, an oval, heart-shaped face, and a wealth of empathy. She also had Satine's habit of biting her cupid's bow lip in just the same way when she was nervous.

Nevertheless, the way Sabine assembled each of her parents' traits together was unexpected and not easily recognized. She was Satine's personal treasure, an inside joke that only she and Obi-wan shared...if she ever let him in on it.

It actually came as a relief that the girl took the less obvious qualities from her parents—it made avoiding inquiries far easier.

Only Ellem knew of the child's real pedigree. Everyone at court believed her to be an orphan from one of the aristocratic families. No one had yet questioned that story.

Nonetheless, Sabine was, in a very real way, her own, unique person. From an early age, it was obvious she was a creative, imaginative soul. Whenever she got her hands on a set of paints or a block of clay, she would become enraptured with drawing, sculpting—designing her own world.

She was quite good, which thrilled her mother, for Satine had always admired those who had a skill for the arts. Scattered all over the palace were leftover drawings and half-finished projects. Satine tried to get the imaginative girl to keep herself restrained to a workroom, but the willful tyke wanted to paint on the walls, floors, doors, clothes, shoes, on everything _but_ paper.

At one point, the harried Duchess just gave up and paid the servants extra to clean up after Sabine.

 _She's just as stubborn as him_ , Satine thought with a growing grin, her troubles forgotten.

Leaning into the cradle, the Duchess put her lips to the twitching toddler's head and whispered a good night. She shifted the drape into place, cutting off the view to her dozing daughter. The girl writhed for a moment, subconsciously sensing that her mother had gone.

Reaching out, she snagged a stuffed Tauntaun and held it close to herself, curling around it. Placated, Sabine mumbled a last whimper and fell back into a deep, content slumber.

Stark against the white fur of the toy, was a knitted, leather band wrapped loosely around her tiny wrist—the only clue to her true lineage.

* * *

Above the Duchess and the secret princess, on a frigid moon, in a tent, two vicious-looking Dathomirians stood conversing with a starkly pallid man.

His visage spoke of war and death.

Although his menacing helmet was off, he wore heavy, traditional armor streaked with blue, black, and gray—the colors of Death Watch. Head shaved on either side, he only had a tuff of slicked-back, blonde hair sitting atop his severe scalp. His blood-stained mitts clutched the sides of the map-littered table in front of him. A variety of weapons—including the rare darksaber—decorated his tattered belt.

His pale, cruel eyes were narrowed in suspicion as he studied his unanticipated guests. A snarl was curled upon his thin lips—as much as he detested their kind, they were needed if he was to turn the tides.

It didn't matter _how_ he wrenched the throne away from Duchess Satine, just that he did so, he told himself. If that meant using these monsters, then so be it.

So, grudgingly, Pre Vizsla included the Dathomirian brothers in his schemes, already planning on how he would betray them—obtuse to the fact that they were doing just the same. In fact, Darth Maul was lightyears ahead of the Death Watch captain. All that he had predicted and foreseen was going according to plan.

The Mandalorian scum would never knew what hit him.

* * *

An explosion boomed outside the window followed by screams. Heart wrenching, Satine flinched, but did not stop her mad scramble. Sabine whined as she stood in her cradle, holding onto the engraved rails. Still, the Duchess did not halt.

Mind completely focused on her task, she shoved clothes, medicines, bottles, anything she could get her paws on, into a satchel. The cries of her forward guard ricocheted down the hall. Her time was running out.

Ellem stood, eyes wide and chin trembling, in the corner of the Duchess's quarters, awaiting orders.

They came quickly.

Grabbing a quilt from her bed, Satine threw the stuffed haversack at Ellem. The handmaiden took it without complaint and threw the bag onto her back.

Turning to the crib where Sabine wobbled and sobbed, the Duchess crouched, face-to-face with her frightened daughter.

"Mama…"

"I need you to be a brave girl, Sabi," Satine spoke, throat tight and gut clenched. "I need you to go with auntie Ellie now. You must be as quiet as you can for mommy. Can you do that, my one and only? It'll be just like a game of hide and seek. Just like that. You like that game, don't you, my beautiful girl?"

Scared, Sabine nonetheless nodded.

"There's my warrior," Satine said with a quivering smile.

And with that, Satine scooped the trembling child into her arms, enveloping her into the blanket. She made sure the quilt covered every visible inch of Sabine before she handed her off to Ellem. Yet, as she tried to transfer her daughter, Sabine snatched onto the Duchess's sleeve. Her tiny face peeked out from beneath the folds.

"Mama!" she protested, tears sprouting from her tawny eyes. "I don' wanna go!"

Satine shushed the girl's teary-eyed complaints lovingly and leaned forward, taking Sabine's little hand in hers.

"I'll be right behind you, my love," she assured, lying. "I promise. You know that I love you more than anything in the whole universe, right?"

Pebbles of roof sprinkled down upon them. The sound of shattering glass crackled like lightning in the distance. The ground rumbled. Sabine's small brain couldn't process the chaos taking place. She peered at Satine in abject confusion.

"You _know_ I love you, don't you?" the increasingly frantic Duchess pleaded, squeezing the child's fingers and kissing them. "Don't you, my sun and stars?"

The message finally clicked in Sabine's head.

"I love you, mommy," she whispered, budging. "Hide an' seek?"

Relieved to the core with shaking knees, Satine nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, of course, Sabi," she agreed feverishly, tears stung her eyes. "But you have to go with Ellie now. We can't play if you don't go with her now."

Satine gave a weak, encouraging smile. It did not reach her eyes. The sound of blasters being fired grew closer.

"Duchess…" Ellem implied with a groan.

It was time.

Satine released the youngling's tiny fingers. She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin in defiance, and clasped her hands in front of her imperially. The sight made Ellem's mouth part in awe.

"Go," Satine ordered with the authority of an ancient, timeless empress. "Take the tunnels."

Without having to be told twice, Ellem covered Sabine's head and scurried out of the room. The girl, at first, gave a gripe, but quieted, remembering her mother's instructions.

"Be brave, Sabine," the doomed Duchess of Mandalore whispered after the pair. "Like your father before you."

" _GET READY MEN!"_ an echo reverberated outside her door moments later. " _Don't show fear! Don't give them the pleasure—_ "

In one loud torrent of cries, the voices of her trusted guards cut off and became grunts of pain. Satine walked forward. A mental clock pounded with each fateful step. _Boom. Boom. Boom._

In a trance, she glided out into the hallway. A blaster kissed her cheek, cutting it.

"Hold your fire! HOLD YOUR FIRE!"

The hallway looked like something out of a history book. The palace had, once again, fallen into disrepair at the hands of violence. The air was perfumed with the scents of blood and fire. The pocketed floor was already filling with rubble and barricaded, splintered bits of furniture. A portrait of her likeness was tattered at her feet. She recognized her own blue eyes peering up at her.

 _No more_ , Satine thought with a bold glare.

Her men lay, fallen, groaning, all about. The Death Watch troopers stood ruthlessly over their ill-fated, treacherous brothers, their blasters in mid-shot. Their face-guarded heads snapped in her direction at the command of ceasefire. From out of the shadows, out of the ranks of the enemy, came Pre Vizsla.

A black hand decorated his ruthless guise, slapped onto the forehead of his helmet like savage war-paint. He strolled calmly, lazily, up to her, looking her up and down.

"Well, this is a surprise," he noted sarcastically, his high-pitched tone reverberated underneath his helm. "I would have thought you smarter than to surrender yourself so easily."

Staring at him with utmost disgust, she did not show fear.

"Only cowards allow their men to die for them."

The rebuke came instantly. Quick as a gunshot, he struck the Duchess with the back of his gloved hand. Gasping in pain, she fell to one knee. Her eyes watered and her cheek screamed in pain.

"What would you know about honor?" Vizsla snarled down at her. "You've made Mandalore the laughing stock of the galaxy!"

Satine rubbed her swelling cheek and lifted her head, glower intact.

"My, my," came an unknown voice. "She is a _feisty_ one, isn't she?"

Stepping from behind the Death Watch leader came someone Satine did not know, but immediately detested. As he approached, Pre Vizsla visibly flinched in revulsion, but he did not stop the creature from getting a closer look.

Dressed in all black, with obsidian stripes splintering down his ruby face like shattered porcelain, and a razor-sharp crown of horns, the yellow gaze of Darth Maul fell upon the Duchesss, intrigued. His voice was a wispy, throaty hiss, but it carried throughout the hall like clapping thunder, drowning out all other noise.

With a start, Satine recognized the shape of a lightsaber handle hanging on his girdle. It dawned on her. He was Sith.

He followed her stare and his curiosity became an instant obsession.

"You've seen one before, haven't you?" he wheezed.

Before she could reject it, his fingers were outstretched, extended. A blast of power surged through her mind like a stampede, ripping into her. With a cry, she curled into herself and clutched her head. Greedy, gluttonous, Maul searched her, absorbing everything he could. As he flipped through image after image, feeling after feeling, he stumbled upon a surprise.

His hand lowered, his infiltrating power subsided. Satine's shoulders were trembling in pain, the corners of her vision were clouding, vertigo—she was sure she was about to retch all over the floor. She still felt the echo of the Sith's presence within her—a parasite sucking her strength.

Pre Vizsla, taking this opportunity, signaled for his men to take the Duchess. Yanking her to her stumbling feet, they shackled and dragged her shivering self away.

Maul watched her go, stroking his pointed chin in fascination.

There was more to the Duchess than met the eye. She harbored a grave secret. One that the Sith would exploit to his advantage. He now had the opportunity to kill two birds with a single, murderous stone.

With blighted, bleeding teeth, he leered.

 _Three birds_ , he corrected himself.


	6. Prison

Ellem ran.

In her wiry arms, with a dark cloak wrapped around her shoulders, she carried the heir of Mandalore. Heart racing, she sprinted around corners as gently as she could, so as not to disturb the child. Sabine was quiet—she was following her mother's last wish faithfully. Ellem whispered words of encouragement under her breath as she went.

Sounds of anarchy exploded from somewhere in the palace and reverberated throughout the abandoned corridors menacingly. The handmaiden had not seen a soul since her escape, and she prayed it would remain that way. Her Duchess had ordered her to use the servants' tunnels—a vast, secretive network connected to the fortress that led to the main points of the city and beyond. It was usually used to run errands, make summons, and carry messages without the hassle—and threat—of crowds. It had become a necessity with the Death Watch's rise to power and influence.

Only a privileged few knew of it, and Ellem was among that special group. She had served the Duchess since the sovereign's first day in office at the tender age of sixteen. Indeed, Ellem thought of the young queen as a daughter and had been Satine's devoted secret-keeper.

It was in her blood. Ellem's family had been serving the aristocratic, noble families for centuries. She believed it a great honor to witness a Mandalore finally united—a feat her ancestors never would have dreamed of.

Now, was an equally—if not more—important task. As she came to an elevator tucked in the western wing of the palace, she peeked at the girl. Gently tugging back the blanket, she made sure everything was in order. Sabine peered, alive and whole, back up at the servant with frightened eyes but kept religiously noiseless.

Ellem gave her a tender smirk and put a finger to her lips. The girl's face gave a flash of understanding and the uneasy handmaiden re-covered the tyke, hiding her underneath a mound of fabric. Sabine was still small for her age—the result of a premature birth—but she was strong-willed, just like her mother.

Satine's pregnancy had been rife with sickness and fever. Due to stress, she had given birth several weeks earlier than expected.

As she waited for the lift, Ellem recollected that dreadful, yet miraculous, day. She had been the sole midwife for no one, not even the medical droids, could know about the pregnancy. Mandalorians did not react well to surprises in matters of power and dynasty. Its people divided easily, and the Death Watch already slobbered for an excuse to start a full-out war.

As she waited agitatedly for the lift, Ellem recollected the image of Satine, writhing and screaming in pain, desperate to save her baby as she lay in the agony of labor. Ellem had at times believed that Satine would not make it, that Mandalore would lose its heart, its beloved queen. Nevertheless, thirteen hours later, the handmaiden had presented the Duchess with a red-shaded, wriggling, peanut-sized babe.

With the dignity befitting a Duchess, the bleeding, sweaty, exhausted Satine had held, kissed, and christened her daughter before losing consciousness.

Despite humble, dangerous beginnings, the baby and mother survived, thrived—a testament to their shared grit.

The lift door finally swung open and Ellem leapt hurriedly on, jabbing a button, and began sinking to the lower floors. The elevator looked out upon the gravity-defying city. The glittering, silver skylines went sideways, vertically, upside-down.

From where she stood, Ellem could detect trails of soot leaking forebodingly in the distance. Fly-like forms buzzed in the distance, left smoky breadcrumbs, and weaved in between buildings. Sounds of faint fireworks followed their beelines, sending up more grey, fiery pillars.

Before her eyes, Mandalore was crumbling. Lips in a hard line, the longtime servant looked away and pulled on her hood, covering her troubled face. She tightened her hold on the enveloped Sabine.

The platform landed on the ground floor with a thud. The panels snapped back open.

Ellem began her mad dash once more, turning her back on the suffering city and racing toward the future hope.

* * *

Imprisoned, but not for long, Darth Maul sat, cross-legged, with eyes closed in concentration. He was seated next to his broad-shouldered, snarling brother and apprentice, Savage Opress. Bright, bluish ray-shields hummed threateningly, boxing the prisoners in. Several other inmates were scattered in the palace cells from regimes old and new.

The Dathomirians were the latest arrivals—along with Duchess Satine—having just been double-crossed by Pre Vizsla. Maul had not expected anything less. The Death Watch leader had achieved what he wanted and no longer needed any extra help in securing his position as ruler of Mandalore.

Vizsla set their execution for dawn, wanting to tie the loose ends he had so foolishly unraveled. Once more, he underestimated the Sith. It would be his last mistake.

In the meantime, Maul set his mind at ease, prepared himself for his inevitable escape.

As the Force would will it, the ex-Duchess was in the prison cell next to him and his brother's. She sat very still, hardly daring to exhale—acutely aware of her monstrous neighbors.

For the last hour, Maul had been ruminating upon her, probing whatever information he could while he waited for an opportunity.

She was an open book and did not even attempt to hide her anxiety-ridden, anguished feelings. Soaking them in, Maul inhaled deeply. He fed upon her terror, her despair. Bloated, his connection to the Dark Side festered and flourished.

Maul reveled in the irony—a peacekeeper was helping him sow the seeds of devastation.

"I believe congratulations are in order," he hissed suddenly into the silence, yellow eyes snapping open.

Satine did not respond, did not even incline her ear in his direction. His presence was an infestation, a stain, a blood-gorged mosquito. If her assumption was right, and he was a Sith, he was a beast of the lowest order.

Sensing her mounting hatred, Maul yapped out a hoarse, gasping cackle.

"What a hypocrite you are, _Duchess_ ," he jeered, glancing out of the corner of his eye at her. "And here I thought pacifists were supposed to be all about love and kindness, but you won't even give me a smile?"

He clicked his tongue mockingly and peered upward at his sneering, wolf-grinned brother.

"But what can you expect from friends of Jedi?"

At this, she flinched in his direction, unable to ignore his perception. Calmly, Maul turned toward her, shifting his position. A winning smirk played on his cracked mouth.

"What do you know about it, fiend?" Satine snapped, glaring. "Or should I call you _Sith_?"

At the mention of his title, Maul's face contorted in pleasure.

"So, you've figured me out, have you?" he challenged, placing his chin in the palm of his claw, leaning on his thigh. "Am I supposed to be impressed that you learned a new word?"

Savage huffed a rumbling, bullish snort as he stood watching the conversation. Wrinkling her nose in revulsion, Satine lowered her glower and began ignoring the pair once again, but Maul was having too much fun to let her bail out so easily.

"You still haven't accepted my congratulations, Duchess," he reminded her evilly, vaguely. "Tell me, how _is_ the little brat?"

Body coiling, bile creeping into her throat, she kept her head down stubbornly. Licking his chops, Maul accepted the challenge.

"Fine," he conceded with a shrug. "I'm sure I'll be seeing the little Mandalorian soon enough."

Her concentration cracked. An ancient, otherworldly rage erupted.

Springing to her feet, Satine pounced at Maul, charging at the ray-shield. Shoulders hunched and a feral snarl on her features, she loosed a maddened yowl of fury. If the shield had not separated them, she wouldn't have wasted a moment in attacking, in killing. Shoulders hunched, her wild, starlight hair twisted down around her face. Her posture was akin to a curling, crouching panther.

" _Don't you dare touch her_!" she snarled.

With utter disdain, Maul cocked his head in Savage's direction.

"Did you hear that, apprentice?" he rasped at his highly amused brother. "It's a girl!"

Satine bared her teeth, practically growling. She longed to strike him. The Sith returned his jaded, unimpressed attention back to her.

"So, what's the parasite's name?"

Satine shook her head, refusing to keep playing his game. Turning away, she gave him one last sneer and marched to the other side of her small cell, as far away from him as possible.

Despite this, her rage still bled like a sliced artery into the Force.

"Pity," he bemoaned sarcastically, ignoring her emotional state. "I bet it's a _pretty_ one," he sighed. "Will you at least tell me who the father is?"

She paled and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. He tapped his chin with a gloved talon and creased his striped brow.

"Ahh," he muttered, noticing the way she began to close herself off. "I see. Men _are_ pigs, but she _is_ yours, isn't she?"

With a perceptive, bloodshot stare he seemed to peer straight through her.

"Yes, she has to be," he ventured, tasting the confliction in her aura. "I assume no one else knows? That Death Watch fool, Vizsla, certainly didn't and he's _obsessed_ with you."

Although her instincts were ill-prepared to fight a Sith, she attempted to detach herself from her emotions, thoughts, memories.

Nonetheless, Maul saw it all unfolding. He did not need to search her inner feelings to guess her secrets.

"Right again or, at least, _mostly_ ," he wheezed in a gloat. "Someone _must_ know. Someone you trust…"

"Stop," Satine pleaded in a whisper. He was inching toward the truth.

Maul hissed a laugh.

"Now we're getting somewhere!" he spat, getting to his feet, pacing. "But perhaps that question is for another day. I _will_ find out, you know," Maul promised absently. "But no matter. In due time, in due time…"

He paused and tapped his cracked lower lip.

"What I _really_ want to know is: why the secrecy?" he rasped, his yellowed, black-bitten teeth flashed.

Toes digging into her tattered shoes and fingers digging into her arms, Satine kept her eyes religiously on the ground.

 _Don't think about it…don't think about it…don't think about it…_ she chanted to herself.

"Why do you resist?" he asked aloud, extending his hand toward her. "What are you hiding?"

Satine felt the wave of familiar, dark power seep around her skin, looking for a way in. It snaked about her mind, bit at her defenses. Her hands began to shake. Her forehead became coated in a thin veil of sweat.

 _Don't think about it! Don't think about_ him _! DON'T. DON'T. DON'T._ her thoughts bemoaned.

Maul fingers stretched, spider's legs.

Another surge smashed against her. She couldn't hold on. He was pushing her out of her own head.

 _Don't…Don't…Don't…Not…Him…_

With a gasp and moan of pain, Obi-wan's face shot up through the depths, shattering her last strands of resistance. Like a neon sign, it uncovered the secrets she had stifled. Memories spilled out of the cracks in the dam of her brain.

At the revelation, Maul let loose a stunned howl. His nonchalant façade gave way to his true form—a being of pure, unadulterated rage. He pushed further, probed deeper. He stripped her of her deepest desires—sacked, looted, pilfered, raped.

"Please…stop!" she wailed, collapsing. " _Stop! I beg you!_ "

The pain was unbearable. It was tearing her from the inside out. Each wave of power was a stab in the head, a shot to the ribs, a slash to the throat. Everything was exposed, unraveled.

Every flutter of affection for Obi, every pang of grief she felt for him and because of him, every sleepless night worrying about Sabine's future and the Jedi Knight who could have been dead or dying on a battlefield were uncovered.

Then came images of them embracing, kissing, the two of them lying together, staring into one another's eyes…

Maul saw and felt things that Obi-wan would never even know about, would never even begin to understand.

Revolted, the Sith finally relinquished.

" _Him_?!" he croaked at her, fangs exposed. "It's…it's… _impossible_! A Jedi?!"

Satine toppled to her knees. The edges of her sight were clouding over. She felt as if she had been gutted. With glazed eyes, she blearily saw as Maul put a hand to his mouth. He appeared floored, completely unable to contemplate the very idea of Obi-wan and her.

Then, a cough escaped him involuntarily. It became a tight, throaty chuckle. It gained momentum. It became a shoulder-shaking, chest-rumbling laugh. Soon, he was bent over and wild with mirth. His arms were wrapped around his torso, clutching his ribs.

The sound sent shivers down her spine—it was a monster cackling before it consumed its prey, worse than a pack of hyenas.

"I had to see it to believe it," he finally hacked, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened. "Who knew he had it in him?"

Another bark of laughter flew from Maul's mouth. He leered at Satine, who still had trouble with seeing double.

"I _must_ commend you most of all Duchess—or, should I say, _seductress_ —on your masterful performance," he scorned with a gleeful sigh. "Not even _I_ could have orchestrated Kenobi's demise any better."

Satine attempted to push herself up but a torrent of vertigo kept her down. She sank back onto the cold, prison floor.

"I…" she gasped. "…beg you…don't…"

"Does it bother you, Duchess," he asked ruthlessly, twisting the knife. "that your _precious_ Obi-wan isn't here? It must be devastating to watch him _gallivant_ across the galaxy without a care in the world while you're stuck here, taking care of _his_ whelp. Why do you protect the man that left you barefoot and pregnant like some slave-girl?"

"I love him."

He snorted.

"That's not love, girl," Maul corrected with a frown. "That's stupidity."

The Sith pondered that for a moment.

"Yes," he hissed. "It all makes _sense_ , now—any fool can see it. You fell for the oldest trick in the book, Duchess! Oh, I'm sure he played his part well," Maul added, spitting. "After all, Kenobi is nothing if not a _snake._ He may have had feelings of some kind, but did you really think a _Jedi_ could love you? It goes against their very natures! Jedi do not love. They're incapable of it. They'd rather sit atop their pedestals and look down their noses at the rest of us."

She shook her dangled head. Satine would not be tempted by his hatred.

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" Maul retorted, sneering. "Well, I suppose we'll just have to wait and find out, won't we? Which reminds me…"

Arm shooting outward, Maul reached toward one of the iridescent walls. A tremor shot through the air. The ray-shield shuddered and shattered.

" _No!_ " Satine screamed, scrambling to her feet.

The movement made her muscles protest and her head spin—she could not let him leave. What if Sabine had not reached safety? Yet, he was already walking away, shoulders shaking in laughter as he did.

Putting his hands behind his back, Maul stepped over the shards of his prison and into freedom. Without a glance at the Duchess, Savage followed, eager to kill.

Yells could be heard. The guards were alerted. The Sith seemed completely unfazed.

Striding smoothly away, Maul peered once more back at the Duchess, turning to her. He bowed his antler-crowned head, feigning ceremony.

"Until we meet again," he announced with a skeleton grin. "I'll be sure to send your daughter my _best_ regards."

With that, he turned and disappeared out of sight.

Satine beat her fists against the shield, but it did not budge. She kicked and pounded it, she threw her weight against it until her shoulders were bruised and her body sore. Still, the rays remained remorselessly stubborn. With a final, broken wail, she sank to her knees, buried her head, and wept.


	7. Takeover

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! Y'all are the sweetest! ^.^ Enjoy the update!**

* * *

"Run, auntie!"

Korkie's cries transformed into moans of pain. One of Maul's men had knocked the boy unconscious with a whip of his blaster and slammed his head into the pavement with an echoing crack.

"No!" Satine cried, glancing over her shoulder in horror.

But she could not stop.

A deep-seated ache gripped her chest as she sprinted atop a high-rise—her nephew was still so young. He did not deserve this for helping her.

Feet slapping the ground, the Duchess waited with choked breath for the signal to respond on her comlink.

 _No signal. No signal. No signal._ the device buzzed at her despairingly.

The transfer of power had begun. Within hours of his escape, Maul had dethroned Pre Vizsla violently with a stroke of his lightsaber. Believers in survival of the fittest, the Death Watch horde gave their loyalty to the Sith, becoming his personal army.

However, not every member of Vizsla's insurgency bowed a knee to Maul. A small force still resisted the Dathomirian interlopers—led, ironically enough, by Satine's estranged sister, Bo-Katan.

The sisters were polar opposites—yin and yang. The older Satine valued life, safety, and peace, while the younger, headstrong Bo-Katan reveled in the traditional, violent, and glory-obsessed past of Mandalore. Defiantly, she had joined Pre Vizsla's movement not long after Satine had acquired the throne, unwilling to serve a pacifist.

They never saw each other after that—at least, until today.

Bo-Katan and a few of those still loyal to House Vizsla had helped Satine's beloved nephew, Korkie, in bailing out the Duchess—any enemy of Maul was now Death Watch's friend. They certainly needed some.

After the small, ragtag group had broken out into the open, it quickly became apparent that Bo's numbers were far outmatched by her former comrades.

Even as Satine ran now, black and red soldiers soared above her head and through the air on hissing jetpacks as they fought against their silver-blue counterparts. Rockets were launched, blasters were fired, and men fell from the skies with bone-rattling cries…all was chaos. Satine was in the middle of a hornet's nest, dodging the stingers.

"C'mon…c'mon!" she growled at the stubborn communicator, keeping her eyes focused on the screen.

The edge of the plateau came within sight. She was running out of room, out of time. Just as she slid to a halt on the cusp of the dizzyingly tall building, the device beeped in her palm—she had achieved a faint frequency, a connection to the Jedi Temple.

An explosion shook the ground, throwing her off her feet. Satine skidded to her knees but held onto the comlink like a lifeline. Hunching over it, bits of hot rock and debris sprinkled against her back as she whispered fiercely.

"This is a message for Obi-wan..."

* * *

Heads close together, Anakin and Obi-wan walked quickly through the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Deep in conversation about their findings on Dathomir, they argued about where to go from here. They knew of Savage's origins, but his present condition remained a mystery.

His bloody trail had gone suddenly cold. Had he found what he wanted?

"We should be out _there_ ," Anakin complained, jerking his sharp chin. "Y'know, actually _looking_ for the monster?"

The blood-orange rays of the fierce Coruscant sky cascaded through the high windows of the Temple's atrium. It pierced the sparkling tiled ground, coloring everything in fiery hues.

"Patience," Obi-wan chided, fingers twisting in his honeyed beard. "We must wait for our enemy to reveal himself before we react. Striking blindly only adds to his advantage."

Frustrated, Anakin harrumphed.

"Yeah?" he challenged through clenched teeth. "Well, while we sit here, _waiting_ , he could be out there killing people! We have to do _something_!"

Obi-wan heaved a worn sigh and ran a hand over his face. Anakin might not have been his padawan anymore, but he still had much to learn.

"I know that," Obi-wan admitted reluctantly. "But we have no idea where Opress is or what he wants. What do you suggest we do? We can't just pick a spot and go willy-nilly. Unfortunate as it may be, we have to be patient. We cannot let our feelings get the better of us."

Hulking, nostrils flared, the veins popped on Anakin's long, sturdy neck.

Dressed in his usual dark colors, he stood half a head taller than Obi-wan, giving off a looming, intimidating impression. Battle-scarred, tanned, and with a tangled, shaggy mess of sandy hair, Skywalker had come a long way from his youthful innocence. He had lost the baby fat in his face, leaving it razor-sharp. A perpetual scowl creased his brow, and his broad lips did not stray from a grimace often these days—he had seen much war, much suffering.

At the moment, his arms were glued to his sides, ending in black-gloved fists as he walked alongside Obi-wan with lengthy, agile strides.

"Fine," Anakin finally managed to snap, ignoring his friend's advice. "How about you stay and _I_ —?"

"Obi-wan. Speak with you, we must."

The two Jedi halted.

Standing at the height of a child, Yoda beckoned the returning Kenobi with a wave of his withered, green claw.

"Hold that mutinous thought, will you?" Obi-wan said to Anakin with a smirk, slapping the boy on the shoulder as he took off in his Master's direction.

The bat-eared Yoda's perceiving, crinkly, dark eyes sparkled mysteriously as Obi-wan approached. Hobbling, he led the Knight to one of the conference rooms on the main floor.

"Sure…" Skywalker sighed from behind. "Whatever you say…"

He muttered a few more choice words under his breath as he walked away, embittered. Smirking, Obi-wan rolled his sapphire eyes as he followed Yoda. The boy certainly was a handful…

However, Obi-wan's amused smile vanished as he entered the dark, circular room. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling blossomed as his gaze met Master Ki-Adi-Mundi's.

Mundi—a Cerean with a snowy, wispy beard and a massive, oval-shaped, head—peered at Obi-wan with an unusually anxious expression.

"You wanted to see me, Masters?" Obi-wan questioned timidly, hanging back.

The panels clasped behind him with an echoing snap. The Masters said nothing. A large, holographic communicator sat in the center of the space, drawing Obi-wan's attention. With a click, Mundi switched it on.

Obi-wan felt the air slip from his lungs, felt as his heart grew secret wings and flew out of his body, through his throat. Displayed in front of him—re-painted as a blue, static hologram—was Satine. Even with the distortion, Obi-wan saw the terror on her features.

Another switch flipped and her see-through form sparked to life.

"This is a message for Obi-wan Kenobi," her voice trembled, warbled. "I've lost Mandalore. My people have been massacred!"

A faint bang could be heard in the background. Satine peered over her shoulder worriedly before turning back around. Her fear-stricken face became resigned, strained—she was cornered.

"I can't explain everything now, but Almec is the prime minister and he has the support of the crime families," she rushed, clutching the communicator in her hand like a talisman.

Obi-wan's face paled. He put a hand to his mouth to cover the fact that his chin was quivering.

Then, a bite of pure anger boiled his blood as a Mandalorian soldier with odd spikes sprouting from his helmet encroached upon the picture. The Duchess did not turn around but leaned closer to the comlink.

"Obi-wan, I need your help!"

The transmission flickered and vanished—Satine disappeared from sight and the room went dark.

* * *

"I want her alive," Maul hissed from his stolen throne.

The Sith sat on the edge of the cathedra, his claws clutching the granite armrests as his yellow glare seared a helmetless, greenhorn soldier in front of him.

"Y-y-yes sir!" the young, fair-head man stammered, saluting.

Maul curled a lip.

"Do you know what will happen if you fail me, boy?" he said in a snarling wheeze.

The Mandalorian shook his head and gulped. Maul watched the lad's Adam's apple bobble with a hungry, malicious expression. He flashed his jaundiced, tainted, fanged canines—a ravenous dog.

Lifting a hand, Maul coaxed the soldier's helmet from his grasp. It levitated toward the Sith lazily, floating serenely as if on an invisible puppet string. Every eye in the room followed its trail, every conversation stopped.

Then, with the ease and agility of a striking cobra, the Sith ignited his blood-bathed lightsaber, leapt from the throne, and slashed the helm in two before it reached the last step. Smoking and burned, sparks flew from the ruined thing as it tumbled from the air.

Its charred halves bounced forebodingly down each step and then rolled.

Maul sat back down.

"Go," he declared softly.

Quaking, the unseasoned, ex-Death Watch fighter nodded, bowed, and scurried away with his tail between his legs and his obliterated helmet forgotten.

Savage grinned evilly as he watched the Mandalorian pup, but his brother frowned.

He despised such obvious weakness.

"Follow him," Maul whispered to his apprentice, leaning over. "Find the girl. Bring her to me. Spare no one."

The other Dathomirian nodded once and strode coolly from the room. Maul leaned back in the opulent seat of power, stroking his tattooed chin with a talon. His newly acquired militia mulled about him, waiting for his orders.

Everything he had planned was coming to fruition at last—his return to power, his criminal empire, a loyal following…

 _Kenobi's head_ … he added to himself.

Once he found the child, it would be just one more knife in Obi-wan's heart. He did not expect the Jedi to survive the dual blows of Satine and her daughter—he would die of a broken heart or be a prisoner of his own unbearable guilt forever.

An evil, twisted grin tugged at Maul's striped mouth as he imagined his nemesis's devastated face. He licked his chops, for he could almost taste Obi-wan's furious grief, his ashamed despair.

Only on that day, in Kenobi's blackest hour, would the Sith finally have his revenge.

* * *

Crash landing, Obi-wan's ship sputtered its way onto a docking platform. The bucket-of-bolts fighter hit the ground with a bang, hissing steam and dripping fluid as it did.

" _Blast it, Anakin_ …" the Knight muttered as a section of the controls ignited in a flurry of sparks. "That's the last time I borrow a ship from you."

He suspected this was Anakin's payback for not allowing him to chase Savage's tail around the galaxy. In his mind's eye, Obi-wan imagined his friend was having a hearty laugh over it.

Anakin had certainly not wasted a second in sarcastically chiding Obi-wan for being "impatient" and "emotional" when the idea of rescuing Satine first came up. Nonetheless, Anakin had proven good on his word to provide transportation for such a mission, despite his many snarky comments.

A jet of hot steam exploded from overhead, fogging the windshield.

 _Well, it's the thought that counts…_ Obi-wan thought with a scoff.

Punching a button, he then departed hastily from the cockpit before he caught fire himself.

Dressed in a stolen bounty hunter guise, he shoved a stained, cracked helmet on, masking his face. Wrinkling his nose underneath, the whole outfit reeked of booze and sweat.

As he came out onto the docks, a lone guard approached, gripping a blaster threateningly. Strangely, his armor was not decorated with the typical colors of Mandalore. It was splashed with stripes of obsidian and blotches of burgundy. Makeshift antlers sprouted like satyr horns from the sides of his helm.

"Sorry for the mess," the disguised Jedi apologized with a nervous laugh. "It's my friend's ship. He's a terrible mechanic. Not an engineering bone in his body..."

A piece of paneling from the fighter's wing clattered to the ground, emphasizing that point.

"Do you have a landing permit?" the guard snapped, unimpressed by Obi-wan's rambling.

"Of course," Kenobi lied confidently. "Come with me. I'll get it."

Motioning for the soldier to follow, he strode back up the ramp.

As the unfortunate Mandalorian clambered into the hull after him, Obi-wan sucker-punched him in the exposed part of his uniform, in the neck. Voice choked off, the Jedi then sent two more precise, devastating jabs. The sentry toppled, falling face-first to the ship floor with a satisfying flop.

Dragging the unconscious body off to the side, Obi-wan then exchanged clothes with the guard, donning the unusual red-black armor. Attaching his lightsaber to the foreign belt, Obi-wan jogged down the ramp and took off in search of Satine. He only had a few hours before his cover was blown.

Somewhere above in the shadowed rafters of the harbor, unbeknownst to the Jedi, several pairs of eyes followed him, intrigued.


	8. Anarchy

The ray-shield dropped with a crack. Footsteps shuffled into her small, familiar cell.

Satine sat with her back to the unknown intruder, eyes closed. Her silvery brow was crinkled in worry. Her radiant, fair locks framed her saddened countenance. Hands clenched in her lap, every ounce of energy was spent thinking of Sabine, praying to the gods that she was safe.

The soft, navy-blue gown she had put on several days ago—that wretched day when her life had flipped upside down and her most prized treasure had been stripped from her arms—was tattered and splattered with blood—hers.

"I already told you everything," she spoke softly, wincing. "What more do you want?"

"Well, I would like to get you out of here for starters," an amazingly familiar voice mused. "But we'll see where the night takes us."

"Obi!"

With a gasp, Satine leapt to her feet and tackled Obi-wan, wrapping her arms around him fiercely. Taken aback, he gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder before she pulled away to study him. Helmet under his arm, he was disguised as one of Maul's cronies. It was an odd combination between his kind, bearded complexion and the macabre armor he sported.

"What are you doing here?" she inquired, dumbfounded. "I thought the Jedi refused to get involved in a neutral system!"

He smirked and his light, sky-blue eyes flashed mischievously.

"You know me, Satine," he quipped with a cocky expression. "I'm a rebel. Now let's get you out of here. Follow me."

With that, he shoved the black-slashed helm on and snatched her hand in his. They sprinted out of the prison complex and into the adjacent corridor of the palace. Immediately jumping behind a wall, they waited for the guards to pass before tip-toeing toward the lifts in the western wing of the fortress.

The old paintings of Satine that hung in the hallways were defaced by onyx crosses or just simply torn down, leaving only foreboding pieces of the top of her head.

"How did you get a transmission out with this much security?" Obi-wan whispered as they hid once more from another party of soldiers.

"I had help," she mumbled back, eyes narrowed.

The squadron passed by, their radios buzzing and their blasters at the ready. Their armor rattled as their boots marched on the muddied tile. Obi-wan and Satine leaned further into the shadows, hidden just barely by a half-way opened doorway.

Eventually, the echoing footsteps faded, disappearing around a corner.

The escapees broke out into the open quickly, ears and sight sharp. Satine let out a strangled sigh of relief as the sight of the elevators came into view.

"Who?" Obi-wan questioned as they waited.

Satine made a face.

"My nephew and his friends and—"

Her words were cut off as the panels to an elevator snapped open. A guard already stood in it, his masked head cocked in the pair's direction. Acting quickly, Obi-wan pushed Satine brutishly and pulled one of her arms behind her back as he strode passed the sentry and onto the lift.

The elevator door re-closed. The platform descended in awkward, tense silence.

"There's no record of prisoner transfer here," the soldier rumbled after a few moments, glancing over his shoulder at the Duchess.

The camouflaged Kenobi shrugged.

"Orders came from upstairs," he grunted.

A bead of sweat dribbled down Satine's back. Her face was molded into a mask of embittered sadness, playing the victim. Although her hands shook, one of them was held in Obi-wan's tight, assured palm. He gave it a squeeze of encouragement.

"What's the authorization code?"

The Duchess closed her eyes in resigned defeat as Obi-wan threw a punch. The guard went down, but was not knocked out. The elevator doors zinged open, and Satine was being hauled at breakneck speed.

"Hey! Stop them! It's the Duchess!" came the resounding cry from behind.

Instantly, blaster fire rang out. Obi-wan's lightsaber ignited. With elegant, deft twirls of his blue blade, he blocked the incoming shots while keeping his fast-paced stride with Satine in tow. She pumped her sore arms and kept her head down, trusted the Jedi to keep her safe.

The ship was in sight, a beacon of hope. The ramp was down, awaiting their arrival.

Chest heaving, the Knight pulled the Duchess onto the ship, amidst the barrage, and into the cockpit. Punching the ignition, the fighter quivered in response.

"We'll need to contact my sister," Satine gasped in between breaths. "She can…she can send reinforcements."

The wings extended. The ship ascended and turned, facing the horizon. Obi-wan threw his foreign helmet to the ground and gave Satine a quick look as he jabbed a few more controls.

"Who's your sister?" he snapped.

Just then, the squeal of a missile rang out. Satine barely had enough time to inhale before the rocket made impact.

Everything swerved, jumbled, and rolled. They fell out of the sky. She did not feel as bits of metal sliced her skin or as her head collided with the dashboard. Nor did she hear Obi-wan's yell or feel as his hand wrapped around her arm and tugged her away from the smoldering cockpit.

With dazed, watering eyes, she was wrenched toward the opening in the side of the burning hull. Smoke filled her lungs. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe, as Obi-wan leapt from the doomed ship, dragging her with him.

There was a moment of flight, of freedom. Her hair and clothes rustled in the polluted, hot wind. Time stood still. Ahead of her, as if frozen, she saw the horde of Maul's men, aiming their guns at her head. Then, in the next second, she collided with pavement and rolled. The ground ripped her flesh and bruised her bones. All became a haze of black.

Obi-wan had let go of her on impact. He landed on his shoulder, skidding. The edges of his vision darkened, but he had Satine in his sights. A massive piece of the destroyed ship careened toward her, threatening to smash her to pieces.

With a cry, he extended his hand and kept it from pulverizing her, levitating it just above her curled form. Flicking his fingers, he tossed it aside. It complied and crashed into another pile of charred rubble. The Jedi made a move to get up, but his feet slipped. A blossoming pain snarled at his side. He put a hand to it and the glove came back wet with warm, sticky blood.

The Duchess lay, almost unconscious, only a few yards away. His ship lay in ruins behind him, crackling and shooting sparks. A cloud of smoke obscured the figures of the soldiers as they rushed in, surrounding him. As they approached, Obi-wan put a hand to his lightsaber, readying himself.

Without warning, a primal, devastating presence permeated like a lightning bolt through the Force, throwing him into disarray. It stole Obi-wan's breath away. It muddied his thoughts and crippled his resolve.

Parting through the fog of destruction came one more figure.

"No. It can't be…" the Jedi whispered, collapsing.

A twisted snarl upon his lips, Darth Maul strode onto the scene. Obi-wan's eyes widened in horror as they met the Sith's unbearably familiar bloodshot, yellowed glare. Haunted memories ricocheted through his mind: Qui-Gon's dying breath, Maul severed in two as he fell into a pit, screams of the Sith's victims echoing in the Force…

Reaching out with spindly, spidery fingers, Obi-wan hovered from the ground, caught in Maul's power. Lungs cut off—he couldn't resist Maul's pull, his throttling vice. In the coils of an unseen snake, Obi-wan soared into his nemesis's grip.

The Sith's fingers wrapped cruelly around the Jedi's throat, choking him further. Obi-wan's legs kicked out underneath him, desperate for air. Blood vessels popped, he scratched at Maul's steel claw frantically. His voice came out in choked gasps.

"We meet again, Kenobi," the Dathomirian rasped gloatingly. "Welcome to _my_ world."

Then, as if chucking a piece of bloody meat to a pack of starved wolves, Maul tossed the strangulated Jedi to a pair of soldiers. They caught him by the arms while his weak, floppy legs hit the ground sickeningly. He was on the cusp of consciousness, barely holding on.

Another guard picked the lifeless Duchess up from the ground. Her head lolled backward and her arms swung like a ragdoll's.

"Take them back to the palace," Maul ordered, surveying his kills coolly from behind.

* * *

"No, please! You can't! Please! She's just a child!"

Ellem's screams cut off—the result of a lightsaber through the heart. Savage Opress snarled at her once as the light died in her big, dark eyes. He wrenched his weapon out, and she collapsed.

In the makeshift cradle, the girl was sniffling, weeping quietly, terrified.

"Auntie Ellie…Auntie Ellie…" she whimpered.

Just as his Master ordered, Savage had found the youngling. The servant had not managed to find a safe way out of the city and had holed herself up in the basement of a known loyalist family.

Their bodies lay cold and lifeless upstairs, along with the guard Savage had trailed. There could be no loose ends.

Not wasting time, for he was already late, the Sith went to snatch the girl up, sheathing his lightsaber. The infant let out a shriek as he approached.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The hulking Dathomirian paused and snorted in annoyance as he glanced menacingly over his shoulder. A trio of ex-Death Watchers stood behind him, their blasters aimed at his head. The one who had spoken was a woman. Although her face was covered, Savage recognized her voice. She had been Vizsla's trusted lieutenant—Bo-Katan.

"Leave," Savage growled with a bullish huff. "This doesn't concern you."

"Oh, but it does," Bo-Katan spat, blaster cocking. "Whatever you and your brother are planning with that girl is my business."

Savage's claw inched toward his blade.

"Make one more move and I'll blow your head off, monster," Bo warned.

She signaled for her men to disarm him. Circling Savage like vultures, they took each side of the brute and closed in. Sabine was quiet as she peered anxiously from the crib, clinging to her pillow.

When the blue-gray armored soldiers got within striking distance, Savage sprang. He dodged Bo-Katan's immediate gunshot and kicked the footing out from the man on his right. Then, lightsaber in hand, he parried another blaster fire.

The deflected shot nearly missed Sabine, cratering the panels just above her head.

"Get the kid outta here!" Bo bellowed, surging forward.

The Death Watcher who had fallen jumped to his feet and went to grab Sabine. He managed to scoop her up but was caught by Savage, who then threw the unlucky soldier across the room. The man managed to hold onto the girl as he collided with a desk, sending trinkets and toys everywhere. Sabine cried as she rolled across the floor and bounced against the wall.

Savage snarled and turned back to the other soldier, parrying more blasts, looming over his prey.

It would be seconds before it was just him and the outmatched lieutenant. Making a choice, the battle-scarred woman threw a pellet to the ground and the room became enveloped in a cloud of smoke.

Bo-Katan then rushed across the space and grabbed the weeping toddler. Savage's lightsaber glittered in the haze.

Child in hand, she sped from the dilapidated house, sprinting out the open front door and into the clear. Enraged, Savage decapitated the Death Watch soldier he had been toying with and followed the girl.

Bo heard his booming footsteps behind her. Twisting around, balancing Sabine in one arm, she chucked an explosive behind her. Savage dodged it, but the resulting detonation swept him off his feet, slowing him, but not for long. Bo just needed a moment, a single second to leave him in the dust.

A howl of fury echoed behind her as she dashed to the edge of the plateau—Savage had resumed the chase. A flash of red sparkled in her peripheral.

She clicked a button on her wrist, igniting her jetpack. Sputtering to life, Bo pushed off from the ground, over the edge, with all her might and propelled into the air with Sabine in the crook of her arm. She did not even take the chance of looking back, but kept her helmeted head religiously forward.

Another roar wailed on the wind, but it was too late. The girl was gone.

* * *

The guards threw Obi-wan to his knees. The world spun around him, things were careening out of control. With fogged sight, he saw as Satine was brought before Maul and placed beside the throne, handcuffed on the Sith's right as he sat, lording over his bounty.

She had regained consciousness, but from the way her head hung now—she was struggling to remain lucid. Everything hurt, her very skin felt worked over and raw. Pockets of dark red decorated her already tainted dress. A cut marked the corner of her lip, swollen and bloody, and a flowering bruise sprouted from her temple, seeping over her left brow.

Obi-wan did not fare much better.

His face was littered with scratches and burn marks. Under the armor, he could feel drips of blood running down his neck, his legs, and on the side of his torso. He had certainly cracked a rib and found it difficult to breathe—every inhale was met with a stab of pain to his lungs.

Finger-shaped bruises were already beginning to form on his throat—a gift from Maul.

Suddenly, Savage Opress sauntered in, arms crossed, with his face collapsed in a snarl. Maul lifted an intrigued brow as his apprentice approached—his aura reeked of surprised disappointment. Nevertheless, Savage took Maul's other side, quietly growling.

"No matter…" Maul hissed softly, eyes flicking back and forth as he pondered.

Then, with a ragged sigh, he rose to his feet. Lazily, he strode toward Obi-wan, a sneer swirled upon his mouth. Obi-wan returned the sentiment. Quietly, Maul studied his prize and his displeasure grew.

"Your noble flaw is a weakness shared by you and your Duchess," he announced finally.

With a bored expression, he lifted a claw. Satine's body lifted despite her gasped protest. She floated, her feet barely touching the ground as she glided over. Writhing against his restraints, Obi-wan struggled against the soldiers holding him back.

Maul shook his head in mock despair.

"You should have chosen the Dark Side, master Jedi," he bemoaned with a smile. "Your emotions betray you—your fear and, yes, your anger."

Satine let out a muffled choke. Obi-wan shook his head, trying to defend against the tempting fury that threatened to swallow him whole. He was a mixture of bleak sorrow and black ire. More than anything, he wanted to sever the Sith's head from his body—he would not come back from the dead again.

"Yes…" Maul hissed, sensing the Jedi's confliction. "Let your anger deepen your hatred…"

A rumbling snarl escaped Obi-wan's throat—a bestial thing.

"Don't do it, Obi," Satine gasped against the invisible strange-hold.

Her diamond-like, sparkling eyes bugged out of her pale skull, pleading. Maul whipped around to her, his raised talon clenched into a fist—tightening the Force-grip on Satine. She began to flinch, to flail.

"Quiet…" the Sith warned.

"You can kill me!" Obi-wan cried, leaning against his captors, desperate to get Maul's attention away from Satine.

It worked. The antlered beast glanced back at the Jedi, an unhinged look on his features. Inadvertently, he loosened his grasp on the Duchess as he stared, entranced, at Obi-wan.

"Yes, you can kill me," the Jedi continued, spitting. "But you will never destroy me. It takes strength to resist the Dark Side. Only the _weak_ embrace it."

"It's more powerful than you know…" Maul retorted in a barely audible grumble, taking another step in Obi-wan's direction.

"And those who oppose it are more powerful than you'll _ever_ be!" the Knight exclaimed.

"Is that so?" Maul hissed.

His fury exploded in the Force like a bursting volcano. Satine began to thrash again. Mind racing, Obi-wan blurted:

"I've been to your village!"

The monstrous bubble of anger burst within Maul. His face became a mask of stunned vehemence. Obi-wan pounced upon it, hoping to keep him distracted long enough for an opportunity to arise.

"I know that the decision to turn to the Dark Side wasn't yours to make," he rambled, words pouring from his mouth. "It was the Nightsisters'! They made it for you! They're the ones who—"

"Silence!" Maul hissed, regaining his infuriated composure. "You think you know _me_?! It was _I_ who languished for _years_ thinking of nothing but _you_!"

He paused, head twisting toward Satine.

"Nothing but this moment…" he finished in a whisper.

The mood was shifting. Obi-wan could sense it change, feel the tides of devastation turning in his direction. Backfired, he was hurtling toward disaster.

"And now I have the perfect tool for my vengeance right in front of me," Maul continued, his stare fixed upon Satine.

" _No_!" Obi-wan cried but was met with a blow to the skull, knocking him down.

A maddened, crazed leer was playing on Maul's face. The darksaber he had stolen from Pre Vizsla ignited, reverberating.

"I never planned on killing you," Maul declared. "But I will make you share my pain, Kenobi."

With a gasp, Satine's body hurtled forward—into the arms of the darksaber. It speared her through.

The room, the world, inhaled.

" _Satine_!" Obi-wan cried, wrenching himself away from the soldiers at last, too late.

She fell from the air with a sighing gurgle, into Obi-wan's embrace. In his arms, she coughed up a mouthful of red. He felt her life essence escaping into the Force, leaving him.

"Satine…" Obi-wan repeated with a sob, cradling her broken body. "No…no…"

With weak, paling fingers she reached upward, caressing his bearded face. He put his leathered hand over hers, clutching onto it like salvation.

"Remember, my dear Obi-wan," she whispered with a brave, small smile. "I loved you always."

A single tear escaped her fading eye—day waning into night.

"I always will," she mumbled with spasmed, blue-tinted lips.

With a final, strained exhale, her limp head turned away from his. Her body became a weight, a sack. No soul sparked within it. No pulse thudded against him. No breath escaped her waxen lips.

The ground seemed to disappear from under him. He felt merciless waves begin to overtake him. A miserable tide of grief pulled him under. He drowned.

Out-of-body, he pulled her close to him and put a quivering lip to her brow, hoping it would rescue him from the torrent of his sorrow. She did not stir—his kiss did not awaken her.

He had run out of miracles.

"Do we kill him now brother?" Savage asked, eager to amend for his mistake.

Maul shook his head, feeding upon Kenobi's endless torment.

"No," he rasped, flushed with power. "Imprison him below. Let him _drown_ in his misery."

Cruel hands ripped Obi-wan from her.

Before they could take him, he gave one last fight. Wrenching out of their hold, he lay the wilted Duchess down on the ground gently, tenderly. He crossed her hands over her bloodied chest and pushed any stray tendril away from her face—forming a radiant halo around her peaceful, unassuming head.

The hands of the enemy came again. This time they would not let him stay.

As they dragged him away, his gaze never left her form. He stumbled backward, always pulling against the guards, desperate to run back to her.

The last rays of the sun glittered through the dirtied windows. A last gift, a final farewell to the valiant Duchess of Mandalore, they sparkled down upon Satine. It lit her skin on fire—it sparkled as if encrusted with the purest diamonds. Her pale blonde hair glistened like dying stars, supernova.

Her splendor was so ethereal that Obi-wan loosed a gasp of wonder, moonstruck. The Sith brothers sneered.

Then, the sun descended below the skyline. Shadows fell, masking Satine in darkness and gloom.

Obi-wan stopped struggling.

The woe returned with a vengeance. Hanging his forlorn head, Obi-wan fell, succumbing to an endless void as he was led away.


	9. Flight

_Two Days Earlier_

"Bo, wait!"

The party of Korkie, his friends, Bo-Katan, and Satine halted their escape from the palace prison. The Duchess snatched her sister's plated arm and gave her a knowing glance.

"Go on ahead and get the ship ready," Bo ordered, annoyed that Satine had chosen this moment to have a heart-to-heart.

Nodding, the others took off with perplexed expressions.

Turning to face her pale sibling, Bo shifted onto one foot and crossed her arms standoffishly.

"What is it that's so important?" she snapped impatiently. "In case you haven't noticed, we're kinda in the middle of something!"

"Bo," Satine continued, her chin lifted, unaffected by the woman's complaint. "You have a niece."

Bo-Katan blinked a few times, taken aback by the jarring subject change.

"Korkie has a sister?" the hazel-eyed Death Watch lieutenant asked, completely baffled.

Satine shook her head and rubbed her arm sheepishly.

"No…"

It clicked and Bo-Katan gasped. She practically stumbled backward and leaned on one of the prison walls for support.

"You…you..." she stuttered, mouth gaping. "… _you_?!"

Tentatively, Satine nodded, fighting the urge to smile. Her gruff, business-like sister had never been easy to surprise. It was a rare moment.

Bo shook her head a few more times, her chin-length redwood hair flicking side-to-side, tickling the back of her neck. Her olive eyes were faraway—as if she were trying to remember all of Satine's love interests throughout their youth. She hadn't been the most _sociable_ of girls…

Eventually, Bo remembered they had limited time and cleared her throat.

"When?" she coughed.

Satine lost the battle and a mighty grin stretched across her features. Her brilliant teeth sparkled against her fair skin. For the first time in days she had the avid desire to laugh.

"Sabine just turned three."

Bo snorted at the name.

"A bit unoriginal, don't you think?"

The Duchess shrugged.

"I thought it was rather clever," Satine defended, still smiling. "It's a perfect mix between mine and her father's name."

She did not divulge any more information.

"So…who _is_ the father?" Bo asked matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather.

A frown tugged at Satine's mouth, her grin vanishing with it. This was the hard, yet inevitable, part.

She had wanted to keep it a secret for as long as she could, preferably until her dying day. Yet, now that things were becoming bleaker and bleaker by the second, she didn't know if she would ever see Sabine again, or if her daughter was even safe, alive.

It had been a longshot before, but now it was becoming a distant impossibility. She didn't have a choice.

Noticing her confliction, Bo-Katan raised a perceiving brow.

"Is it that bad?" she asked, racking her brain, trying to solve the mystery.

"Yes," Satine admitted, hating it. "Not because _he's_ bad, it's just…the situation. It would ruin him if…"

She bit her lip and clenched her fists, mustering her resolve. It felt wrong to be speaking of it so freely after so many years of keeping it bottled up.

"…if his Masters found out."

If the previous update had staggered Bo-Katan, the new information was like the knockout punch. A blinkering of stars flickered in her vision.

" _Masters_?" Bo-Katan exclaimed, her green-brown eyes wide. "Please tell me he's a slave!"

Satine shook her head. Bo groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"So he must be…"

Satine nodded.

"A Jedi, yes," she finished primly. "His name is Obi-wan Kenobi. You've probably met him."

Bo dug the heel of her palms into her eye sockets. Leave it to her sister to elope with the most ancient, hated enemy of Mandalore…

She barked a laugh. Satine _would_ have done something so completely backwards. Sometimes she thought the Duchess did these sorts of things just to spite her.

The name sounded familiar, Bo-Katan knew she heard a rumbling of that particular Jedi from somewhere, but she couldn't think straight with all the new information buzzing around in her head.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Bo complained, a migraine sprouting from behind her eyes. "Couldn't it have waited, y'know, until I was _dead_?"

A small smirk twitched back onto the proper Duchess's face. It felt good to have her sister back, if only for a moment.

"Actually, I thought this was the most _suitable_ time to tell you," Satine rejoined, clasping her elegant hands in front of her as she began striding past the ray-shields. "Being as that neither of us may be alive tomorrow."

Bo-Katan scoffed but followed nevertheless. As the two women approached the doorway, Satine put a hand on her sister's shoulder, halting her once more before the cusp of the unknown.

"If I do not make it out of here, I need you to promise me something," she pressed, her clear, cerulean eyes shining intensely.

Bo nodded, even though years of bitterness toward Satine reared their ugly heads.

"I need you to find Sabine," the Duchess said, swallowing thickly. "I need you to make sure no harm comes to her and that she's taken care of. Even if that means you have to take her away from here, away from Mandalore."

"Sati…" Bo replied, strained by this new responsibility. "I'm no mother..."

"I'm not asking you to be one," Satine snapped in desperation. "Just make sure that's she's _safe_. That's all I wish. I just don't want her to grow up all alone. She needs a family—a home."

Hazel met blue as the sisters gazed at each other, vying for dominance; however, this time, it was the pacifist who won out. There was no beating a mother.

"Fine," Bo grumbled, shaking off Satine's hand. "If we can get a message to the Jedi, smuggle you off the planet, defeat Maul, _and_ manage to _not_ get killed while doing it—I give you my word as a Mandalorian that the kid will be in good hands."

Palpably relieved, Satine breathed mangled thanks. She really desired to wrap Bo in a good hug, but her sister had never been one for such things. So, she merely crinkled her eyes and smiled lovingly.

Already uncomfortable, Bo-Katan jerked her chin toward the tempting, open door.

"We should go."

Pulling away, the Duchess nodded with a serious expression. Bo sprinted ahead of her, shoving on her Death Watch helmet, hiding her fiery hair. Taking one last breath, Satine followed. One weight had lifted from her spirit, but several more quickly added on.

There were countless variables, endless possibilities to how the future would unfold. Already, she had a bad feeling—an unshakable ominous sensation.

She took solace in the fact that even she lived out her days as a prisoner or worse, Sabine at least had a chance of freedom, of happiness.

That was all a mother could do for her child.

* * *

 _Presently_

Only vaguely aware of where they were taking him, Obi-wan staggered along with the pair of grisly-clad guards. Their iron grips on him ached in protest as his hands were wrapped awkwardly around his back. A slight, hair-ruffling breeze weaved through the Jedi's blood-crusted, bourbon hair, shivered through his garbled beard.

Only an imprint of the sun remained on the horizon. The moon was shimmering into existence, a crescent of silver.

The trio stepped onto a circular platform. As they settled upon it, it began to hover and glide, slowly inching toward Obi-wan's life as a miserable prisoner—forever to be a mounted trophy upon Maul's wall.

The thought should have spurred him to some greater action, but all it caused was a flicker of disappointment. He did not know if he would ever be himself again. Joking, smiling, even putting on a happy semblance, seemed intolerable.

His throat clenched. His heart squeezed as if caught in a steel-jawed trap, bleeding out. A horrid burst of metallic sorrow flooded his mouth—bitter and guilt-ridden.

In front of the silent trio loomed a massive opening—leading toward the prison block. Its shadow spread across the space like a gaping maw, swallowing all who approached.

Obi-wan would be its next meal. He hung his head lower, accepting his fate. He did not deserve any partiality, any mercy. He had failed Mandalore, he had failed himself…

 _I failed her…_

Suddenly, within inches of entering of the complex, a yelp rifled through the twilight air—an echoing gunshot. The guards twisted around, but were too late. The lift they had all been standing on toppled with a shudder. They were thrown from it.

Obi-wan's already sore and shattered body smashed into the hard pavement, dizzying him. Yells were heard but then were suddenly silenced by another round of blasters. Pushing himself to all fours, he shook his concussed head, trying to clear the stars in his vision.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

On a feral instinct he did not know he still possessed, Obi-wan flipped over and struck. The side of his hand connected with jugular of whoever had touched him. With a snarl, he raised his fist and tackled the intruder, going for the kill.

In the back of his mind, he knew that this was not one of Maul's men. The armored person he had downed was colored all wrong and wasn't even trying to harm the Jedi. But, the well of anger, grief, and guilt spilled over—rendering Obi-wan bursting with an animalistic furor. It did not matter who this Mandalorian was, he just wanted to kill, to force someone to share his pain.

It was only fair.

Luckily, before he could do anything rash, another set of strong hands wrenched him off the unfortunate Death Watcher and yanked his quivering, thrashing arms behind his back.

"Get off!" he cried, foaming at the mouth.

"Only if you say please," came the coy rebuttal in his ear.

It was a woman's voice. He twisted about, trying to see her face.

Unbeknownst to him, Bo-Katan smirked beneath the helmet.

"Now is this any way to treat your rescuer, master Jedi?"

Obi-wan went still.

"How do I know this isn't some sort of trick?" he shot back, unwilling to release his anger.

"I give you my word."

He scoffed. That meant nothing to him.

"Fine," she snapped, irritated. "I swear on the Duchess's grave. I am not your enemy!"

A kidney shot, a slice to his gut, the promise of Bo-Katan deflated him, sucked the energy from his bones. His oceanic irises glistened with unshed tears.

With that, she released him. He stumbled forward and rubbed his sore wrists. Unhitching a flash of silver from her belt, she handed him his lightsaber—she had managed to snag it from one of the guards. With a grateful, tight, nod he accepted it.

It felt somehow heavier than he remembered. Curious, he narrowed his eyes at the guised Death Watcher.

"I don't believe we met," he growled, grimacing. "You are?"

Jaw clenched, he struggled to keep his magmatic emotions in check. It was a tantalizing temptation to return to the palace. His blood cried for vengeance, eye for an eye, even though he knew that path led toward more suffering and destruction. The cycle of violence was self-perpetuating.

Noting his struggle, the way he white-knuckled his weapon, the woman motioned for him to follow.

"Bo-Katan," the woman chirped in answer to his question. "Come along. We don't have much time."

Nostrils flared, he jogged after her.

There was something familiar about her, a secret wafting about her aura—one having to do with Satine. Whispers in the Force tickled his ear, sprinkled his mind. It was like a memory of a memory, hazed but present. It distracted him from the monster in his mind roaring for Maul's head.

Three other Death Watchers landed from the sky as they travelled across the expanse. Reaching the edge, looking across Mandalore, Bo-Katan whipped around to face him. One of her men handed her a jetpack—it was white, blocky, and made Obi-wan's palms sweat.

"We need to get you a ride," she said and jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "The fastest way to the shipyard is that way, a direct shot. You ever work one of these before?"

She held out the jetpack, eyeing him.

He gulped.

"No," he admitted, gingerly taking the thing. "But, in this case, I'm a fast learner."

Bo helped strap it to his back and fastened the controls to his wrist.

"Press this button to land," she explained, pointing at a red dot on his vambrace and then at a blue one. "And this one to take off. Don't worry about the other ones on there. They'll just get you into trouble. Think you can handle it?"

Obi-wan nodded bravely. His stomach, on the other hand, was very unhappy with the prospect of flight-by-jetpack—it seemed more like suicide.

"Ok, let's go."

Making it seem as easy as breathing, Bo-Katan ignited and took off into the air like a bird, looping and gliding. Obi-wan followed suit, albeit far less gracefully. His legs kicked out as if he was a toddler learning to swim, but he managed to stay within a reasonable distance of the others.

He kept his eyes up, refusing to look down—it was a long way to the bottom.

The effort it took to stay afloat drowned out much of the grief. It crawled to the back of his mind as he focused on the task ahead. A valuable lesson he had learned from Qui-Gon's death was how to compartmentalize—at least for now.

If he survived the night and managed to return home, that would be a different story.

The party swerved around a corner, forming a diamond in the sky. A massive complex materialized ahead—hundreds of platforms stacked one on top of the other. Each housed rows and rows of fighters, transports, speeders, and a variety of other modes.

Bo-Katan signaled for them to stop.

Like a fly, she clung to the side of a building. The other Death Watchers replicated her perfectly while Obi-wan slipped and scrambled, hanging onto a crease by his fingernails. Dangling by one arm, Bo leaned over and put a hand to her helmet, fiddling with the programmed binoculars. Zooming in, she made a noise of irritation.

There were at least three battalions of armed guards patrolling the area. Turning to the rest of the crew, she beckoned them over. Obi-wan groaned and crept cautiously, shimmying slowly along the panels.

"We've got a problem," Bo-Katan growled, jerking her head. "There's a whole army guarding the place."

"We'll need a distraction," Obi-wan immediately suggested as he tried to maintain his balance.

"Like what?" one Death Watch soldier snapped at him, unimpressed. "There's only four of us!"

Keeping his eyes on his footing, Obi-wan's gaze did not meet the questioning man's hidden face.

"I assume you have explosives?" he asked coolly.

"Not enough to get their full attention," Bo answered.

Obi-wan smirked.

"Leave that to me."


	10. Wall

" _This_ was your idea?!" Bo-Katan shouted at Obi-wan over the noise of incoming gunfire.

Blocking shots with his saber, the Jedi smiled as he focused on the incoming barrage. Using the limited explosives they had, Obi-wan had set them off randomly all over the shipyard—confusing and splitting up the defenses.

Unfortunately, that still meant that he and his three compatriots had to escape a sizeable regiment of black-red Mandalorians. The enemy may have been scrambled, but they weren't slow to the chase—especially now that they had spotted the gleam of his blue lightsaber. The volley became too much.

Back peddling, Obi-wan leapt behind a grounded, blue-striped transport. Several shots pinged off the metal just behind his head as he leaned against the ship. Beads of sweat trickled down his scalp as adrenaline thrummed in his veins. With a peeking side glance, he watched as Maul's men slowly enclosed upon him—about one hundred feet away.

"Blast…" he mumbled to himself, blowing a stray lock of hair out of his face.

He just needed one moment, a single second in which to escape, but he was having problems with securing the transportation.

"How's it coming?!" he cried up at Bo, trying to keep his hands and mind steady.

Bo-Katan had hijacked into one of the ships—a solid-looking fighter—and was now trying to fire it up amidst the chaos. Obi-wan could just make out her silver-gray armor and fiery red hair from where he took cover.

The ex-Death Watch lieutenant fumbled with the wires under the controls and yanked on a variety of levers, but was greeted with frustration—the engines rumbled and then died.

"Uh…" she replied, searching for an answer in the mess of mechanics.

A bomb detonated and shook the ground. Speeders screeched as they flipped over and skidded against the pavement. Bits of metal sprinkled from above forebodingly. An encroaching fog of smoke began to hide Obi-wan from the soldiers' sight. He took the advantage and shot off in Bo-Katan's direction.

Crouching in the cockpit, she groaned in irritation. No matter how hard she tried, the ship refused to start. She heard the Jedi's shuffling feet as he approached, coming out of the grey, sooty haze. In the distance, she recognized the cries of her men as they baited and battled their former brethren.

"It won't start!" she shouted as Obi-wan leapt in behind her, sheathing his lightsaber.

Putting his hand on her shoulder, he gently nudged her out of the way.

"Let me take a shot at it…" he muttered, his blazing blue irises shining determinedly.

Bo suppressed an eye roll.

 _Men_ …she thought, turning her attention to defense.

Shoving her helmet back on, she whipped out her blasters, eyes sharp. Faint figures glittered in and out of focus as the smoke began to lessen. One more explosive hung heavy in her vambrace, but she was hesitant to use it. The battle didn't end after the Jedi left.

Sparks shot up from the controls—they singed the tips of Obi-wan's fingers as he fiddled with the stubborn wires.

"Just need to find the sweet spot…" he told himself with crumpled brow.

Above him, Bo-Katan let loose a whistling shot—it rang in Obi-wan's ear, making him wince.

The resulting cry of pain told him she had hit her target. Unfortunately, her precision also seemed to get the attention of others. Soldiers barked at one another, gesturing in the escapees' direction.

" _Could you hurry it up_?" she snapped and two more yelps exploded from her blasters.

She could see the traitors forming ranks, organizing, sprinting her way.

Heart pounding in his ears, the footsteps of the enemy echoed like gongs—approaching doom. He lost feeling in his fingers as they worked desperately to hot-wire the remorseless thing. A shot whistled just over his head, kissing his scalp.

With a snarl of frustration, he gave up the fight and yanked the wires out, sending up another flurry of electric embers.

" _Not like tha—_! _"_ Bo protested.

The fighter shuddered and sputtered, roaring to life. With a smug look, Obi-wan glanced back.

"You were saying?"

Grateful that her helm was on to hide her relieved, annoyed smirk, she grabbed her last round, black pellet out of her belt and threw it, sending up another pillar of fog. She crouched down to the Jedi's level as he poked and prodded the controls.

"The fight's not over yet, master Kenobi," she yelled in his ear. "Tell your Republic what happened here!"

Puzzled, Obi-wan paused.

"Wait, how do you—?"

It clicked then. Yes, now he could see the resemblance, could feel the Force confirming his instincts.

"You're Satine's sister, aren't you?"

Bo-Katan said nothing, keeping her head forward. Obi-wan did not see how her throat compressed or how her jaw clamped, stifling the urge to whimper. Yet, he could sense her feelings begin to shift, to sadden.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, resuming.

In answer, Bo-Katan leapt off the body of the ship and raised two fingers at him in a mock salute. He returned it with a concerned expression.

Jabbing a button, the blaster-shield hissed and covered him as the fighter began to levitate. Not wasting time, Bo sprinted off, igniting her jetpack as she went. Soon, she was speeding into the horizon accompanied by only one of her original group. So was the price of victory. Or, at least, survival.

Obi-wan followed suit. The red sparks of blaster-fire cropped up all around him now. The shimmer of black boots and spiked helmets was peeking through the smoky haze. Yanking a lever, he lurched forward, narrowly avoiding another ship as he rocketed outward.

Soon, he was careening out of Maul's reach and into the vastness of space. Yet, his thoughts remained grounded, entranced by the day's events. Over and over, his brain switched from Satine's dying countenance, to Maul's bleeding, bestial grin, and finally to Bo-Katan's knowing glance.

He had lost so much.

* * *

Twitching in agony upon the blood-stained street outside the palace's high, western wall, Maul lay under the cruel, unseen gaze of Darth Sidious, his old Master. Savage lay lifeless and still a few yards away—a glimmering, green wisp still permeated around the corpse, the last testimony of Mother Talzin's witchcraft. His inhuman eyes were faraway and a splash of dark, black blood smeared the edges of his grimaced, broken mouth.

Death had not been kind to the Dathomirian.

"I have a task for you," came the croak of Sidious as he studied his murderous success.

Electricity coursed through his veins, an aftershock—a rush of pure, unbridled energy. Sidious longed to release it again and again upon the creature sprawled at his feet, but he stayed his homicidal hand. There was work to be done.

Maul still spasmed and flinched violently—a victim of the Sith Lord's power. Jolts of horrible pain prickled from the top of his skull to the tips of his fingers. His metallic, robotic legs were not helping his attempts to stifle the voltage as it ran haywire through his organic, upper half.

"Anything, my Master!" he cried as static spikes saturated his mouth, charring.

Beneath his ebony hood, Sidious smiled, cold and calculating. He had come to Mandalore to annihilate any potential rivals to his dominion—which he had done masterfully; however, he had not expected the surprise awaiting him. Now he would leave this planet with the bonus of new knowledge, hidden secrets.

"Continue your search for the Duchess's offspring," he squawked as he tucked his vibrating arms into black sleeves. "When you find it, bring it to me."

"Of course, Master!" replied Maul in a half-groan.

The unmistakable scent of burning flesh—his flesh—licked the air. The scorching waves of anguish had not ebbed. Yet, Maul did not scream or shriek, even though he desperately wanted to. Indeed, he utilized all of his waning power in remaining as still and lucid as possible. Any displayed weakness would only earn him another round of torture.

He met Sidious's guised stare with an unblinking one of his own. The Lord was obviously expecting his former pupil to crack, but he would not get the pleasure. An aching snarl twisted Maul's mouth as he lay on his side. His arms were wrapped, as if in a straight-jacket, around his buzzing, cringing torso.

He could sense his Mater probing, seeking. Sidious wanted an excuse, a loophole in which to do more damage. Yet, Maul had learned well. He was an expert on perseverance—an immortal cockroach.

Frowning, Sidious eventually relented. He dropped Maul's stolen lightsaber to the pavement grudgingly. It bounced and rolled, hitting its owner in the elbow.

Even still, the Dathomirian did not react. He dared not even breathe around the Lord without his permission.

"Yes, most impressive," Sidious sneered softly, taking a step backward. "Your _miraculous_ survival is, indeed, an admirable feat, my wayward apprentice. Yet, I still find myself doubting. You may have evaded death, but your obvious failure remains."

Maul's face twitched. His coal-like pupils dilated in suppressed rage.

"I will not fail you again, Master."

Sidious turned half-way around, frowning beneath the cloak—a specter of death.

"We shall see," he hissed, a menacing threat lacing his words.

Indeed, Maul knew that there would not be a hole deep enough, nor garbage pile high enough, for him to escape to if he failed again. Sidious's wrath would not be robbed a second time. Death would be the least of his worries—eternal torment would await him.

Gliding, Sidious slid away without a sound. His pitch-black form melded into the shadows of the night and vanished, leaving only an imprint of his ancient, eternal anger. Maul's own fury was but child's play compared to the Sith Lord's. The power of Sidious rippled through the Force like a tidal wave, a perpetual tsunami that obliterated everything in its wake.

So terrible was its effect that Obi-wan awoke in his bed on a Republic cruiser with a start.

He had been having a vague, indifferent nightmare—something had been chasing him, a horde of shades. He was running, sprinting with all his might, but it was no use. The more he tried, the slower he went. A child's—a girl's—sobs echoed all about, driving him. He had to save her, but he couldn't see her, couldn't find her in the dark.

The dream had ended with her terrified scream. He had been too late.

Breathing heavily, in through his nose and out through his mouth, he felt another shiver rocket through his spine. The Dark Side's presence tickled the edges of his mind. His skin was icy cold and drenched in sweat.

Whisking back the thin, tattered sheet, he pressed his shaking toes into the floor and put his head in his hands. Yet, no matter how hard he pressed the ends of his palms into his eyes, he could not shake the girl's dying shriek.

The whole thing tasted of premonition, but it made no sense. He didn't know who she was. Was she someone he had already met or had not yet encountered? A twinge of recognition seized his chest, the Force guiding him.

He felt he knew her…but how? Where? When?

Suddenly, the panels to his room whisked open. A blinding light shined through, masking the intruder's facade in shadow. On instinct, Obi-wan shot up, squinting.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir," said a faceless clone with a salute. "But Commander Skywalker is requesting your immediate presence on the bridge."

With a heavy sigh, the Jedi slumped back down onto the cot, rubbing the back of his neck. He had to get his emotions back in control. Mandalore had left him in a jumpy, edgy state.

"No problem," Obi-wan relented, closing his tired eyes. "Tell him I'll come as quickly as I can."

"Very good, sir."

With another formal gesture, the armored clone left, shutting off the light once more.

Obi-wan took a few more minutes as he ruminated upon the dream. Mindlessly, he stroked his tangled beard.

Perhaps it was a reverie and nothing more, he argued to himself.

His gut wrenched at the thought. A frown tugged at his mouth.

No, this was different. He had had visions before, but nothing of this magnitude. His palms were still clammy and sticky with sweat and his hairs stood on end, goose-bumped antennas.

It was a similar feeling to…

He snarled in frustration, not allowing his mind to wander back to Mandalore. Already he was putting considerable effort into stamping out the memories burned into his psyche. It was only a few hours ago, not even a day had passed, since his escape and already he knew only misery lay ahead of him if he didn't keep himself occupied.

Flashes of dreadful recollections flickered like a wick, tempting him toward addictive grief. His heart longed to wallow in its sorrow, to rip itself apart, and drag him into the quagmire of his shame. The threat of it loomed like an oncoming storm, dark skies.

He could already feel its presence seeping through him like ink in water—blinding his sight and paralyzing his body. He had to do something and quick, before the sting of despair pricked him.

Grinding his teeth, he scrambled to his feet, dressed, and burst out the door, desperate to escape the ghost of Satine and the dream. As he ran through the crowded hallways of the space station, he began to build a wall around the perimeter of his soul.

No one would enter through the gates of his heart again, he vowed.


	11. Vow

"Please be quiet!" Bo-Katan begged, all to no avail.

Sabine would not be consoled.

She wailed and wept, writhed and thrashed, in her temporary, poorly-made cradle. It was more of a box than anything—with tarnished metallic sides and only a few feet in diameter. The girl had no toys or anything of use to calm her. A tattered, wilted blanket served as her bed. Bo-Katan had not managed to snatch the girl's things after her escape from Savage Opress several days earlier.

Before circling back to bust the Jedi out, she had hid Sabine in one of the old, Death Watch safe houses just outside the city limits. No one except her and other high-ranking members of Pre Vizsla's inner circle knew of it.

Nonetheless, it was no place to raise a child—especially a child such as this. It sat in perpetual disrepair. The roof leaked and the floors creaked as if about to cave in any second. Sabine was stowed away in the basement, which was more of a broom closet hollowed out.

Dusty imprints pocketed the floor and there was the faint stench of rot in the stale air.

"I wan' momma!" Sabine squealed, her doughy face red and her big, amber eyes swollen.

Bo-Katan sighed for the hundredth time that day as she crouched on the ground, eye-level with the princess.

"Mommy's gone," she explained, hoping without hope that the girl would finally understand. "She had to go away to protect you."

Sabine sniffled and put a hand around her other wrist, clutching onto a bracelet. It had been with her for the entire time, ever since she had been rescued.

"What's that you got there?" Bo hummed, trying to distract the infant.

Yet, as she reached out, Sabine recoiled in distrust. Bo-Katan's hand fell empty and rescinded to her side.

"It's ok," she placated with a lump in her throat. "I promise I won't take it."

Sabine did not ease her defenses. Although she was young, she knew the preciousness of the band cinched around her tiny wrist—the only thing left of her mother.

"Go away," the girl said with astonishing clarity. "I hate you!"

Disheartened but not surprised, Bo grimaced. She walked of the cupboard room with hunched, depressed shoulders.

What had Satine been thinking—making _her_ promise to take care of a toddler?! She told the Duchess she wasn't a mother, warned her—had made it incredibly clear how unwilling she was.

Kids had always hated Bo-Katan, they could sense her unwillingness to be around them.

Indeed, Bo had learned from a very young age that she was not meant to raise a family. She never had any interest in the simple, country life where women would give up everything to be chained to a husband and his dependents. Why sacrifice independence and potential valor for indentured servitude? she reasoned.

Plus, it wasn't like she was the most popular person. Men had always been intimidated by her fierceness, her ruthless drive to accomplish the impossible. Well, except for…

She swallowed thickly at the memory of Pre Vizsla. If there had been anyone she would have had a life with, it would have been him.

Marching up the stairs, she pushed back a blanket-covered doorway with more vehemence than necessary. Several helmets turned in her direction as she entered. The number surprised her—there was so few of them now.

"How's the kid?" one of her comrades—Lanx—asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the far wall.

Shifting impulsively to one foot, Bo clenched her jaw.

"About how'd you expect."

Lanx mumbled a grunt.

"She can't stay here," another Death Watcher remarked suddenly with a bored voice, this time a woman—Silk.

She squatted on the right, crouching to the ground, cleaning out her blaster. The shimmery, contorted parts were sprawled all over the dirtied, warped floor in front of her.

Bo flicked her feral, cat-like eyes to the private.

"She's has nowhere else to go," Bo snapped, glaring. "We can't just leave her, either."

Silk merely shrugged.

"Don't see why not. She's none of our concern."

Bo fingers inched toward the hilt of her gun, aching to attack.

"I made a vow," she growled, curling her lip.

Leaning forward, scrubbing a bit of metal with machine-like precision, the other woman did not respond.

"She's got a point, sarge."

This time, the comment came from Bo-Katan's left—Jett, one of her most trusted men. He had been there for the escapes of both the Duchess and the Jedi. His late opinion cut Bo to the quick, but what could she do?

"What?" Bo sighed, pinching the bridge of her Roman nose.

Biting back a smile, Jett came forward and put a reassuring hand on his superior's shoulder. He was the only other one with his helmet off, which revealed his perceiving, understanding, gray eyes and his cropped, white-streaked, hair. He had been a fighter for the Death Watch cause long before Pre Vizsla. His entire persona relayed his experience. His tanned, calloused face was littered in pale, bumpy scars. A new one was bleeding as it carved across his stubbled chin.

"I think what Silky's tryin' to say is that this is no place for children," he explained reasonably. "If she stays here long enough, she'll get hurt. It's only a matter of time before the dogs come searchin' for us. Doesn't _that_ factor into your vow?"

Grudgingly, Bo nodded. Satine had never said that she had to be the one to take care of the girl, just that she made sure Sabine was safe.

"Now that doesn't mean we have to kick her to the curb," he continued, his quick mind formulating plans. "What if we dropped her off at an orphanage? I bet they're gettin' a lot of newcomers right now."

Bo-Katan could see it now: Sabine staring from behind a rusty, spiked gate as a throng of wild children ran around her, accompanied by a sadistic warden. Her face screwed up at the thought of it.

 _Not my sis's kid._

"No," she replied with a rush of color, shaking off Jett's hand. "We have to do better than that. She has to grow up, y'know _, loved_."

Silk made an audible noise of revulsion.

"Look who's gone soft…" she muttered under her breath as she clicked a silencer onto her newly assembled blaster.

Bo took a menacing step forward.

"What did you say?" she challenged, a clenched hand on her hip.

Silk peered up—her hidden, helmeted face a mystery.

"You heard me."

If Jett hadn't managed to hold her back, Bo would have tackled the bitch. In the background, Lanx laughed softly, keeping nonchalant, but he watched with interest, ready to pounce in on the action.

"Keep it together!" Jett hissed in Bo's ear, pushing her back with a hard hand. "It's not her you're really angry at!"

A furious glower still etched onto her face, Bo huffed a petulant snort. Jett may have been right, but taking Silk down a notch would certainly provide a bit of catharsis.

"I'm _not_ dropping her off at some prison," she snarled, nostrils flared and teeth bared. "I won't have that on my conscience. If we're gonna do this, it's gonna be _my_ way. End of discussion."

And with that, she pushed Jett out of the way and stomped out the door into the still, quiet night.


	12. Peacetime

_Two Months Later_

"Where is she?" Maul hissed softly.

Floating in the air right in front of him was a disarmed, flailing Death Watcher. The soldier's hands pulled at his collar hysterically as he levitated, his feet inches from the ground in an invisible noose.

"I…I…" he spluttered, twitching. "…don't know!"

Maul's raised hand curled ever more.

"Lies…" he rasped as he watched his prey squirm.

"I'm telling…" the man choked out, his lungs crying. "…the truth! _I swear_!"

Considering, Maul released his catch anticlimactically. With a strangled gasp, the victim of the Sith toppled and collapsed. A mound of dust flew into the air at impact. Another pair of bodies lay limp and twisted across the small space, leaning grotesquely against the dilapidated walls like pathetic marionettes.

For the last months, Maul had raided Death Watch hideaway after hideaway—checking off the boxes, clearing out the infestation. Obsessed with his task, his last chance to prove his worth to Sidious, he knew that Pre Vizsla's last vanguard had stolen the child right out from under him, had somehow managed to evade his late brother's clutches—this information had been Savage's last gift to his Master.

Coughing and wheezing, the obsolete Death Watcher struggled to regain his breathing. He whisked his helmet off as a burst of blood flew from his scarred lips. He was older, a veteran with splotches of light gray coloring his temples.

Maul reached forward, his black-gloved fingers extended like a flayed ribcage. Immediately, the man recoiled in pain, hands wrapping around his head, attempting to keep the monster out. He rocked on his toes and twitched like a bug.

Lazily, slowly, evilly, Maul flipped through the pages of his brain, blandly searching for some kind of answer. Only frustration greeted him until he stumbled upon a hazy picture of someone he recognized—the Death Watch lieutenant, a woman with hair the color of a Coruscant sky.

She was the last link—had been the last one to see the child.

Grinning, shark-toothed, Maul probed deeper, unaware that his prisoner was becoming overwhelmed. Indeed, the man's heart was flying, beating like a hummingbird's.

"Stop…stop…stop…" he panted, clutching his chest. "I ca—can't…"

With a muffled sigh, he sank unconscious. Falling face-forward, his head plunked against the pavement right at Maul's feet. The Sith howled in anger—he was so close! In a reckless rage, he ignited his saber and brought it down.

Jett's head flew from his body, rolling as it left a crimson line behind.

Maul was grasping at straws—he knew that the lieutenant was the crux on which his mission rested, and yet she was nowhere to be found. Not even her most trusted friends knew where she had gone. Jett had only vague notions—most likely she remained on Mandalore, but he had not seen her in weeks. Maul had no idea if she still even had the child!

Like with the rest of his kills, the Sith squatted down and pick-pocketed the headless body. He stripped the corpse of its comlink and frequency codes, making sure he stayed within the communication loop. Rarely did someone access the channels nowadays, what with Maul hunting each one of them down and the chaos that had descended upon the planet.

The Clone Wars had finally ended after several long years, but the clan wars had just begun. In the absence of a stable government, the Mandalorian civil battles had revived among the many, ancient factions—who were always eager to clash with one another.

Almec, the puppet prime minister under Maul, had been murdered, adding to the anarchy. It was every man for himself now until the fledgling Empire decided to parade in. This prove to be an advantage for the Sith. He had a great cover. No one would think twice about these murders now. They would blame some other, rival tribe.

Shoving his loot into a pocket, Maul exited the shack, already thinking about the next dot, the next breadcrumb. He had not slept in days, but it didn't bother him much. The years in demented exile had proven enough rest—he hardly ever closed his eyes, never wanting to be caught unawares again.

Although he hunted the girl for Sidious, the task was intensely personal. She was the daughter of his nemesis, which meant that Maul could still have his ultimate revenge. She was the last chance to truly annihilate Obi-wan.

Hoping onto a stolen speeder, Maul kicked it into gear and sped across the vacant stretches of Mandalore. The white, fallow ground stretched beneath and all around him like an endless, salty ocean. Only the blip of the capital sat on the desolate horizon. From where he sat, he could detect it burning—there was a haze of red haloing the skyline.

A part of him reveled in the suffering—it was a feast for any Dark Side wielder. He longed to join in on the carnage and emerge victorious above the rabble. He could rule Mandalore once more, if he so desired—if he took advantage of this prime opportunity.

Nevertheless, he steered to the right, away from the tantalizing offer. He did not have time for such distractions. It would only earn Sidious's continued disfavor if he diverged from the plan now.

No, he would capture the brat, kill whoever got in his way, and present her to his Lord. Surely his Master would be pleased with his success and forgive him for his one mistake. Maul would reclaim his rightful spot next to Sidious, he was sure.

Once the formalities were taken care of, the Sith knew exactly where to go from there.

 _I will have your head yet, Kenobi_ …he swore with a leer.

* * *

Staring at a rock wall, Obi-wan sat in his misery, in the shade of a cave. His one, trusted cloak was wrapped characteristically around him and his hood was yanked over his brow, hiding his glazed gaze.

Hollow, completely emptied of any soul he once had, he allowed the haunted ghosts of his head to overwhelm him. A half-poured, carved bowl of herb-crusted soup lay at his feet, forgotten. A lumpy, patched haversack leaned beside him, containing the vestiges of his shredded life—his lightsaber, a change of clothes, a water container, and a few credits.

As he hunkered in the darkness of his new home, one name, one face, one image kept bounding into his thoughts: Anakin.

The boy he had trained—his best friend, his brother in arms—was gone, had turned to the Dark Side, and been left for dead by Kenobi on Mustafar.

Obi-wan had to do it! he told himself as he remembered the savage cries of Skywalker, who lay defeated in a pile of smoldering ember and sizzling blood.

" _I hate you_!" Anakin's had shrieked, his handsome face now grotesque and seared, bloody and burned.

Pathetically, the boy crawled without legs, only a hobbling torso, toward Obi-wan, desperate to prove his worth, to kill. With a broken expression, the victorious Jedi snatched Anakin's lightsaber from the volcanic ground and walked away, leaving Skywalker to die, unable to fight any longer.

Right under his nose, somewhere along the way Anakin had been corrupted. In hindsight, Obi-wan saw it—the way Anakin began to distrust his Jedi Masters, or how he began to kill without hesitation in the final days of the war, or, lastly, his growing obsession with chancellor Palpatine.

Obi-wan had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that after the war, Anakin would calm down, would put it behind him. Now, the grizzled Kenobi realized that there was never a chance at peacetime for his former padawan. The glory Anakin won through combat, the incessant praise he received not just from Palpatine, but from all others except his Masters—it was an impossible temptation, irresistible for someone who was still so young.

Republic victory would be his greatest accomplishment, the legacy he left behind for all time.

War had awakened a bloodthirst in him—a savage, paradoxical desire to protect those he loved by the worst means necessary. In pursuit of peace, Anakin had discovered easy cruelty; in the search for stability, he had learned a callous ruthlessness.

Yet, all hope was not lost. Although the boy who had been prophesized to restore the Force had ended up shipwrecking it, pushing it into disarray, he gave one last, promising petal before his dark demise: his son, Luke and his daughter, Leia.

His bloodline now carried the weight of his divine destiny, yet Anakin appeared to know nothing about them—had no idea that Padme, his secret, pregnant wife, had conceived and bore him twins before her death. A plan had been hatched, Obi-wan would watch over the boy, Luke, on Tatooine—a desert planet—while the prestigious Senator Organa would take the girl, Leia, under his wing, raising her up as his own in Alderaan.

Of course, Obi-wan would not care for Luke—he would be grow up with Anakin's stepbrother, Owen, on a farm not far from the banished Jedi's eye.

The first days had gone quietly. No one had yet trailed Kenobi to this place, no one knew of Skywalker's secret. The only problem that ever nagged Obi-wan was an occasional Sand Person and his sinister memories reminding him of all the friends he had lost.

The clones had turned on the Jedi, annihilating them. Kenobi was the last of his kind as far as he knew. All that the Order had built over centuries, stretching back infinitely—the temples, the knowledge, thousands of lives—was wiped out overnight.

Obi-wan pulled his hood further over his eyes and hung his head in despair.

He had failed them all. How many more lives would he lose to the Dark Side?

A great tiredness pulled at him. He did not want to fight anymore, he had no will left. He had given everything to the Jedi, to the Republic, to the war, to the clones, to his padawan, to his Masters, to Satine…

On the last name, he snatched up the bowl next to him and threw it at the wall with all his might. It shattered. He watched the rocky pieces crack and splinter, but it did nothing to fill the hole within his spirit. A massing revulsion snaked around his chest. He wanted to be rid of it all. What was the point?

Those idyllic days before any of this had happened seemed like another lifetime. He gave a bitter laugh as he recollected the problems of his younger self. How foolish he had been to be so cautious around Satine! If only he had realized the preciousness of their time together, if only he had foreseen the oncoming destruction…

He shook his head and put a palm to his forehead, leaning upon it.

Not even Yoda could have seen this madness coming—it sprung upon them all like a thief in the night, stealing everything without a trace.

The wind howled outside, a nighttime sandstorm. Raising his other arm with a haggard sigh, Obi-wan took hold of a boulder with the Force and rolled it to the opening of the small cavern, blocking out the encroaching sand.

With a strange thought, it struck him again that not a month ago he had a bed, a full belly, a family of sorts, and only the details of mission plaguing his mind. How swiftly his fortune had changed.

Nevertheless, he also knew that there was a boy in whom the hopes of the galaxy rested on not a mile away from where he sat, wallowing in self-pity. Although he didn't know it, this boy depended on Obi-wan to watch over him, to protect him—it was the Knight's last chance for redemption. He could not stumble again.

So, saving his sorrow for the morning, he leaned his weary head against the cave wall and closed his eyes, wrapping his cloak closer to himself as the temperature dropped and the fire dimmed. Before his mind plunged into a fitful, dreamless, and uncomfortable slumber, his last waking thought was of Satine smiling up at him. In her hand, she clutched his padawan hair-tie, cradling it close to herself like a precious jewel.

It gave Obi-wan a flicker of contentment that he had once loved someone and that someone had once loved him. If only he could recapture that feeling again…


	13. Ben

**A/N: Enjoy! :) Please let me know if you have any comments or questions! :D**

* * *

From behind the corner of a cliff, Obi-wan peered curiously at Luke Skywalker.

The boy was growing well. Already he had a tuff of sandy-blonde hair atop his cheeky, rounded head. Owen's wife, Beru, carried the infant, humming to him as she pointed out objects around the farm, sounding out words. Balancing him on one arm, she picked a stone off the ground and handed it to the enraptured boy. His massive blue eyes grew ever wider as he gingerly clutched the pebble.

"Can you say 'rock'?" Obi-wan heard her ask.

Luke gurgled something unintelligible in response.

Suddenly, it fell out of his palm and smacked the sandy ground with a thump, sending a spray of dirt everywhere. Immensely pleased, Luke giggled and clapped his hands—he was very proud of his achievement.

A mindless grin stretched across Obi-wan's face as he watched from afar. The boy certainly had an infectious happiness about him, perhaps he wouldn't follow in his father's footsteps. Although Luke was barely a year old, Obi-wan—now going by Ben to fool the locals—could sense a burgeoning power within the child. The Force was with him.

Unfortunately, any promise that Luke showed was quickly smothered by his uncle, Owen, who would scold the boy whenever he did anything slightly out of the ordinary. Once, the young Skywalker had managed to move one of his toys without touching it, which sent his caretaker into a slobbering rage.

This was why Obi-wan had come down from his nest in the mountains. He could not allow Owen to destroy the galaxy's one hope of salvation with his close-minded fear of things he didn't understand. If Luke didn't learn his destiny soon, he may never realize his potential.

This was the Jedi way.

Before the Wars, the Order would seek those who were strong with the Force at an early age—usually never later than 3 or 4 years old. These gifted younglings grew up in the many Temples across the systems, completely entrenched in the Jedi way of life. Of course, now that the Jedi had been all but eradicated, this could no longer be the case.

Nevertheless, Obi-wan was not about to let all that he had cherished become obsolete and forgotten. Some traditions needed to be preserved and in this foreboding, dangerous time it was imperative that Luke be made aware of his calling as soon as possible.

So, tugging his hood over his face, Obi-wan stepped out from behind the sandstone crag and began walking toward the farm. Owen's humble estate was made up of several white, igloo-shaped structures which led to bunkers underground, beneath the blistering, sandy winds of Tatooine.

As Obi-wan's mysterious, brown-cloaked form came within sight of the farm, a figure sprinted out of one of the houses and dashed in the Jedi's direction.

"Hello there," Kenobi greeted genially from a distance, inclining his concealed head.

"What's wrong?" Owen snapped as he came within hearing range of the hermit, skipping pleasantries.

Not lifting his cowl, Obi-wan crossed his arms into his loose, tattered sleeves and studied the harried man.

"There's been no sign of the Empire, if that's what you're asking."

Owen stopped a few feet away from the Jedi, wary.

"Then what are you doin' here?" he exclaimed, not even bothering to hide his animosity.

Obi-wan lifted a hand to his beard. His hidden, pale blue eyes flicked up and down as he sensed the Force, surmising Owen's feelings.

"I'm concerned," he explained vaguely.

"Yeah? What of?" the farmer shot back, clenching his jaw.

"You do not seem to be very supportive of the young one's abilities."

Taken aback, Owen blinked a few times before he responded. He squinted at Kenobi, attempting to see past his hood, but was met with frustration. He only saw the tip of the Jedi's familiar, scraggly bourbon beard peeking out from underneath.

"I'm tryin' to protect him!" he finally retorted, nostrils flared. "If anyone saw—if anyone found out that we were harborin' a…a…"

"Jedi?" Obi-wan mused, lifting a veiled brow.

"Shh! Not so loud!"

Owen peered over his shoulder as if a Stormtrooper had suddenly loomed up out of the earth behind him. Obi-wan rolled his eyes. He had forgotten how distrustful the general populace was of Force-wielders. Even in the glory days, Kenobi had always been surprised by the enduring suspicion the galaxy held for people like him.

"It's better for him if he doesn't know about…those _things_ until he needs to," Owen finished, turning back around to the cloaked figure. "Filling his head with that now will only get him into trouble."

"Get him into trouble or you?" Obi-wan questioned back, underwhelmed.

Instantly, Owen puffed up. His wide, square, and sunburned face swelled with a rush of heat and his beady, blue eyes shimmered dangerously. His broad, stocky shoulders hunched like a bull ready to charge as his strong, calloused hands shook at his sides.

"Listen here, _master_ Jedi," he snapped in a gruff growl, turning purple. "That boy was given to me and my wife for a reason. We're the ones who clothe and feed him and that means _we_ decide what's best for 'im, not _you_!"

Obi-wan scoffed and crossed his arms.

"If he had been born before all this, he would already be at the Temple—training under the very best!" Obi-wan reasoned, annoyed. "His gifts wouldn't be squandered like they are now. He _has_ to learn how to control them properly before it's too late, and pretending that he's normal will not make him so."

"Bah! Those days are over," Owen spat. "The Order's gone and the Republic's gone with it. Might as well get used to it, Kenobi—your kind's no longer needed here. And I say _good riddance_! Jedi caused nothing but trouble for us. Bunch of weird, long-haired nerf-herders is more like it. I'll be damned if Luke turns out like one of 'em! Look what happened to his father!"

"You cannot fight nature," Obi-wan responded sagely. "The sun will rise despite your attempts to block it out, and the planet will turn even if you stay still."

The Tatooine farmer snorted and shook his head.

"You Jedi and your riddles…"

"Luke _will_ realize the truth one day," Obi-wan warned. "Whether you like it or not. The will of the Force cannot be escaped."

Owen screwed up his face. He had enough.

"Go home, Jedi!" he snarled, jerking his stubbly, weak chin. "I will not have you intrudin' on our humble lives here. Go on! _Get_!"

Saddened, Obi-wan meekly nodded and turned away. He could not make the man see sense, only time and suffering would do that. The Jedi's long, billowing cloak made a trail in the sand behind him as he walked—a lonely snake in the desert.

"And don't you come back!" Owen shouted after him, shaking his fist.

The farmer's echoing cry rebounded off the rock walls as Obi-wan entered into the nearby canyon. Its reverberations reminded him with each step of his stark isolation. No longer was he Jedi Knight Obi-wan Kenobi, the esteemed general of the Clone Wars, a veteran of Geonosis and countless other battles.

No, he was now the obscure hermit, the banished monk, the despised wanderer.

Ben.

* * *

The journey back to his cave was not far, but it did go through dangerous territory. The Sand People of Tatooine were nervous, nomadic creatures who greatly distrusted all who crossed their path. Obi-wan had not come to blows with them yet, but he had felt their shining, dark eyes upon him as he traveled along the bottom of the rocky ravines.

However, as he clambered over a boulder, he heard an odd sound.

It was laughter—a child's laughter.

Whisking his hood off, his eyes searched for the source. A glitter of white sparkled in his peripheral. Leaping off the rock, he spun around, a hand on his belt.

"Hello?" he called out tentatively. "Anyone there?"

He took a cautious step forward, looking about.

Another chuckle tinkled all around. His gaze followed the sound and landed upon a small face peeking out from behind the corner of a canyon wall.

It was, indeed, a child—a girl. He could just make out her long, dark hair from where he stood. There seemed to be no one else with her. He took another step, and she recoiled, hiding further.

"There's no reason to be afraid," he soothed, halting. "I will not harm you."

Just then, she was gone in a flash of amber.

"Wait!" Obi-wan shouted and he began to give chase.

As he flew around the bend, he saw a sparkle of rich, chestnut brown. She was just ahead of him, darting behind another twist. Again, he pursued, determined to find the child, whoever she was. It wasn't safe out here after the sun began setting.

Running in the thick sand slowed him down as he followed. She always remained just out of reach and no matter how much he cried out to her, she did not stop, but only laughed, believing it was some sort of game.

Sweat pooled atop his lids and stung his eyes. Although the day was waning, the temperature was remorselessly hot and dry. His lips and lungs were parched, and a raw, burned feeling began to sting his exposed cheeks and forehead.

Finally, as he staggered around another bend in the canyon, breathing hard, he came to a dead-end. The mysterious girl had her back to him, facing toward the sand-streaked bluff at the end of a winding trench. The shadows fell long and spindly against the makeshift, eroded confines. The sun was descending, disappearing from its perch in the cloudless sky.

Still turned away, she was small and couldn't have been more than five years old. Her hair was medium length and the color of a sapling tree trunk—rich and earthy. She wore a bafflingly spotless white dress. Not even the hem was dirtied.

The brilliance of it stood out starkly against her olive skin tone.

Throat tight, Obi-wan put his hands on his knees, trying to regain his wheezing breath. Then, looking both ways suspiciously, he approached her.

"Hello little one," he greeted in a half-whisper. "May I ask where your parents are?"

Swiftly, like a cat, she faced him. He stopped dead in his tracks a few feet away.

Her eyes were exotically almond and the color of spotless amethyst. They glittered mischievously at him as if they held some funny secret. There was a puzzlingly familiarity about the way her soft, upturned lips sat upon her dainty chin, or the way her nose carved a perfectly symmetrical line down her heart-shaped face.

"Why did you leave us?" she squeaked, eyes innocent and wide.

Obi-wan furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean, youngling?" he asked softly, crouching to her level.

Her perceptive gaze followed him unnervingly.

"You left mommy," she explained in a sniffle. "You left me."

Obi-wan cocked his head in confusion.

"I'm sorry?" he apologized, unsure of what else to say. "Where is your mommy? Maybe we can find her."

The girl shook her head and wiped her nose with a tiny fist. There was a leather strap tied around her wrist.

"Bad men took her," she said giving another whimper. "She told me to be brave, but I don't wanna be brave anymore. I'm scared!"

She came closer to the Jedi, glancing side-to-side as she did.

"There's a monster trying to take me, too!" she whispered in his ear.

Deeply unsettled, Obi-wan leaned closer.

"A monster?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"What does it look like?" he prodded, keeping his senses sharp.

Taking a moment, she screwed up her face and waddled over to a stick. Grabbing it, she came back to Obi-wan and sat in the sand, drawing. She traced a wobbly oval—a face—and then attached several lines to the top of it which jutted out like warped branches. She then drew two large, glaring eyes and added a murderous mouth with sharp fangs.

Finally, and most importantly, she decorated the monster's face with zig-zags, stretching from the top of his horned head to the bottom of his saber-toothed jaw.

As Obi-wan realized what the drawing was, he elicited a gasp.

"Maul…?"

Suddenly, the girl let out a shriek, pointing at something behind the Jedi. Turning just in time, Obi-wan managed to dodge the oncoming flash of red aimed at his skull. Rolling in the sand, he unsheathed his lightsaber and ignited it.

He leapt to his feet as another slash struck toward him, quick as lightning.

He parried the blow and stared right into the yellow glare of Darth Maul.


	14. Revelation

**A/N: So, I just realized I skipped a chapter...but that means 2 updates (technically)! Check out chap. 11: "Vow"! :D Sorry for any confusion!~**

* * *

"So, we meet again, Kenobi," Maul hissed.

The connected lightsabers fizzled and sparked—blue vs. red. Back to a rock wall, Obi-wan felt his heel bump against the crumbled stones as he planted his feet. His muscles cried with disuse as he kept his defensive position. A twinge shuttered through his back and down his arms—it had been too long.

Maul, on the other hand, seemed right at home. The pressure he exerted only seemed to build and build, while the Jedi's resistance weakened.

With shaking arms and a cry, Obi-wan gave a desperate thrust, pushing Maul away.

The Sith leapt backward but maintained his perfect posture. Saber at his side, he held it in a loose, one-handed grip as if he did not consider his opponent worthy of his full strength and attention. His golden eyes burned with conceit as he stared his prey down, hungry.

Obi-wan knew the look well.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," the Jedi spat, returning the glare. "Cockroaches like you are nothing if not persistent."

Raising his weapon, Maul's sadistic grin was covered by his humming, murderous blade.

"The Sith will _always_ endure," he rasped, his voice high and cruel. "Unlike the Jedi…"

Growling, Obi-wan pounced and the sabers clashed once more with a sizzle of energy. Where they met, a white-hot glow blazed and crackled like lightning. Again and again, the blades skirmished in swirls of electric color. The Sith and the Jedi circled each other in a deadly dance, lunging and feinting and parrying.

With each strike, Obi-wan could feel his energy speeding away. He clung onto the handle with all his might and dug his footing firmly into the ground, needing it to support his failing legs.

His weapon became a battered shield—he was desperately outmatched. Sweat dripped from his temples and dampened his collar, revealing his struggle to merely stay in the game. Maul, on the other hand, was dry as a bone. When his endless attempts were repelled, he never panted or grunted. His bottomless rage fell on Obi-wan like a volcanic tsunami.

It took all the Jedi had to block slash after slash, to not lose his limbs or his head.

Hardly bothering to breathe, Maul did not relent but his maniacal gaze began to flick toward the terrified girl who stood watching from afar. With each feint, he began to edge closer to her, shifting the fight.

Obi-wan's crystalline eyes became slits of furious diamond, seeing the Sith's insidious intention. He could not allow the beast anymore ground. Energy exhausted, physically spent, he called on his last reserves. As he did, he kept the girl in the forefront of his mind and the same overly protective feeling swelled in his veins, pumping revived courage.

 _Save her. Save her. Save her._

The Jedi gave one last offensive, trying to keep Maul's attention, lest innocent blood be shed. With renewed vigor, he rained down shaky blows and futilely probed the Force, looking for an opportunity. Just as before, his enemy was unnervingly rigid, providing no windows. He returned Obi-wan's harried attacks with loping, graceful ones, never letting the advantage lie against him.

The last gasp of the Jedi turned into a swan song. No matter how hard he tried, his bones screamed for a release. His form became loose and dangerously exploitable. He could no longer hold his saber high. It hung by a thread.

The fight became a farce and Maul's attention diverted back to the girl, leering. The expression on the Sith's black-cracked face sent a flutter of fear crawling into Obi-wan's aching chest.

Unable to stand, Obi-wan fell to a knee and cried:

"Get behind me!"

As he yelled, he raised a hand and knocked Maul back with a meager rush of invisible power. It succeeded in distracting the Dathomirian, but only for a moment.

It took more of a toll on Obi-wan than he thought—he came to all fours, palms hitting the dirt, splitting open. His flesh was cold and clammy and drenched. The cloak sat heavy on his shoulders, an oppressive weight. Globs of bile and spit spiraled from his mouth and onto the sand. It tasted of bitter copper, scorching his tongue. His elbows quaked, he could only just keep his weak head lifted to see as Maul straightened, completely unaffected by the torturous battle.

Petrified, the tiny, dark-haired girl darted over to the only thing standing between her and the monster's wrath. She peeked from behind Obi-wan, staying close to his leg. She put her little hand on his back, clinging to his robe like a safety blanket.

Maul's nefarious, yellow eyes flickered from her and back to the Jedi's, a winning smirk stretched upon his snake-slit mouth. A tremor of wind whistled into the ravine, rustling Obi-wan's damp hair, freezing. The temperature sunk like a stone—puffs of frigid fog escaped his lips. Everything became fuzzy and hazed—his stamina failed.

"Run...Run!" he whispered to the girl in a gasp, but she only buried her head, hiding in the folds of his cloak.

A shadow seeped across the Force, biting Obi-wan's lungs, clenching his throat. A mounting terror snowed upon his mind.

"Poor, little Jedi," Maul gloated, his voice beginning to echo and warble. "I see, yes, I understand..."

The Sith approached, his confidence radiating like a nova. With each assured step, another stab of darkness seeped into the Force, clouding the Jedi's senses.

Grinding his teeth, determined to give the girl one last chance, Obi-wan lashed out like a cornered beast. With the ease of a king, Maul swiped him away with a touch of the Force, sending him flying against a rock wall. The Jedi grunted in pain as his spine smacked into the unforgiving stone.

The child whimpered, but could not move. She trembled from head to toe, transfixed by the macabre scene.

His very skeleton aching, Obi-wan leaned on the crag for support, his saber a footnote in his hand as death loomed closer.

Face twisted, he gave a final exhale of unadulterated hatred as he came face-to-face with Maul:

"I...will...kill...you..."

The Sith clicked his tongue. He was done playing with his food.

"That is not the Jedi way, Kenobi."

In a flash of supernatural strength and precision, Maul twirled and sent a devastating kick, knocking Obi-wan off his feet. The girl screamed as the defeated man landed on his back, hard, in the dirt, sending up a fog of showering sand. His vision swam from where his skull cracked against a chunk of rock.

"You've lost your touch," came the jeer of Maul from above. "Consider myself disappointed, but unsurprised."

Rolling to one side, Obi-wan struggled to push himself off the ground. He raised his weapon feebly. With an unimpressed sigh, Maul kicked it out of his grasp, sending it flying. Then, he pressed the heel of his boot into Obi-wan's chest and pressed down mercilessly, crunching the ribcage.

Darkness edged his vision, the Jedi began to lose consciousness. He clutched his attacker's foot, trying desperately to alleviate the pressure, but it did no good. Maul was going to stomp all the way through his torso, he was sure.

As his breaths became strangled, muffled chokes for mercy, Maul relented. The resulting influx of air was just as painful—ripping a hole through his side.

With bleared sight, Obi-wan only felt as the Sith crouched down next to him—the demonic head popping in and out of lucidity. Overkill, Maul put his blood-colored blade to Kenobi's throat.

"Yes, master Jedi, I understand," he said with a satisfied smirk. "You've lost _everything_ —your home, your precious friends, your padawan…"

Obi-wan shook his head, trying to keep out the memories. There were too many of them. They swarmed and bit and stung and scratched…

Satine. Anakin. Qui-Gon. Windu. Rex. Padme. Yoda…a thousand other names surged through—a thousand paper cuts, slashing him to bits.

"Try as you might, you will _never_ be the same," Maul hooted, reveling in the pain as he kneeled. "Oh sure, you _try_ and make yourself useful. You watch over the boy, you give unwanted advice, but the fact is: No one needs you. No one wants you. You're just a dusty relic, a remnant of a forgotten age— _worthless_."

"You're…wrong…" Obi panted pathetically, the Sith's saber singeing his collar.

"Your feelings betray you. In your misery, you've become _blind_ to the truth."

Suddenly, Maul was gone, vanished. Obi-wan could no longer feel his presence looming beside him.

Then, a shriek shook him to his very core.

" _Help!"_

It froze his blood and filled his heart with an irresistible horror. His head still throbbed and his sight was a kaleidoscope. He could only push himself up to his knees.

A grim reaper, the Sith materialized a few yards away. He had his merciless paw on the shoulder of the girl while his other hand lay at his side, still clutching the threatening blade. A pitiless expression marked his zig-zagged countenance—it reeked of murder.

The girl's face was streaked with tears as she quailed. Droplets of salty water spotted her once pristine dress.

"Help...help..." she begged quietly.

Disoriented, the Jedi reached out, supplicating.

"Please! She's just a child!" he cried with his heart in a vice. "Don't do this!"

With spindly, black claws, Maul tightened his grip.

"I won't harm the _whelp_ ," he swore in a wispy growl, sneering. " _If_ you can solve my riddle."

Bewildered, Obi-wan sputtered:

"This is madness! Just let her go!"

The girl sniffled and Maul brought his saber closer to her rosy cheek—baiting, taunting.

"It's a simple question, really," the Sith retorted with a fanged smile.

He jerked his head downward, his crooked horns bobbing.

"Who is she?"

Eyes wide, Obi-wan didn't have a clue. Mouth gaping, the Sith couldn't be serious. What game was he playing?

"Clear your mind, Jedi," Maul advised cruelly. "You haven't got much time."

Jolted, Obi-wan studied the small, brown-haired girl, racking his brain. The nagging sensation came back with a force. He knew her, but from where?

He stared deeply into her eyes, willing them to tell him something of significance. Yet, her petrified, amber irises only sparkled with tears and fright. They beseeched him, pleading: she did not want to die.

"Thirty seconds, Kenobi."

Where had he seen that expression before?

"Twenty."

The answer was just beyond his reach, dangling in the haze of his mind. There was a tantalizing whisper murmuring something to him.

"Fifteen."

Squeezing his lids shut, he pushed out all the distractions cluttering his soul. Shoulders and body going limp, he sat humbly in the dirt and crossed his legs underneath him, buckled. He bowed his head and surrendered his pride and shame, relinquishing himself to the will of the Force. It was his last and only resort.

He sought answers no matter the consequences. His tainted hands could not stand anymore innocent blood.

From faraway, miles in the distance, he heard:

"Ten. Nine. Eight…"

He delved deeper, diving into the abyss of Reality's soul. The vague whispers became more concrete, he could hear syllables, words, sentences. Images began cropping up, guiding him, until he landed upon a moment in time:

 _In a fog, two black-silhouetted figures stood close to one another, grasping hands like old lovers. One was smaller and lithe, like a fragile flower stalk, while the other was taller and wiry, like an ivory vine. Obi-wan could not make out their faces, but he was sure he had witnessed this scene before._

 _The taller figure bent down and placed a tender kiss upon the other's head. The action made the shorter one laugh with delight._

The sound of it ricocheted and crashed upon the Jedi, flooding his soul.

Instantly, he knew the voice. Instantly, he knew the truth.

In tandem, an echo sifted through the Force:

 _Yours._

He came back to himself.

"…Four…three…"

"She's mine," Obi-wan stated flatly, opening his eyes. "My _child_ …"

Maul stopped counting. An odd expression crept onto his facade. Indeed, his eyes crinkled and he appraised Obi-wan with a pleased nod. His face no longer held malice or spite. It was positively tranquil.

"Perhaps you are not so lost after all…" the Sith muttered with a smooth sigh.

As he spoke, he stepped away from the child and dissolved into shadow, into the encroaching twilight—leaving only the imprint of red.

The girl remained, but now she wore a massive, rueful grin. It twinkled in the dying light. With confident, swinging strides she bumbled her way over to the stunned, worn Obi-wan and tackled him in an embrace. Numb, he returned her hug lifelessly.

 _I have a daughter…_

"What's the matter, daddy?" she squeaked, pulling back to stare at him with those huge, crystalline eyes which shimmered just like her mother's. "Aren't you happy?"

A bulge in his throat made it difficult to speak. The events of the night blurred together. Was it all a dream?

"O-of course I am?" he said with a plastic voice.

She screwed up her face, squinting cutely.

"You don't look very happy," she observed accurately.

"I…uh…"

"You'll still protect me, won't you papa?" she cut in, her little fingers clutching onto his soiled tunic. "From the monster?"

Obi-wan blinked furiously, trying to stay conscious.

"Monster?" he pondered weakly. "But I thought..."

She nodded feverishly. Her chestnut hair— _his_ hair—swung around, dancing on her slight shoulders. The sight of it entranced him.

"I hear him," she said warningly, her voice fading away. "He's looking for me, papa. Don't let him find me!"

"I-I…" the Jedi stammered as she, too, began to evaporate. "Wait!"

With a wave of her white dress, she vanished.

" _Don't let him kill me, too_."


	15. Premonition

**A/N: Whoa! It's been awhile! Enjoy!**

* * *

Shoving the pieces of his life into his patchwork satchel, Obi-wan formed a plan. He needed a way off this planet and fast. That would mean a trip to Mos Eisley—a wretched town filled with gold-toothed, snake-oiled smugglers. It was not ideal, but it was the only quick way to evade the Empire's radar.

Now the problem became on how to get to that forsaken port.

He pondered whether he should intrude upon Owen for a speeder but quickly decided against it. The farmer would probably open fire if the Jedi showed his face on his property again. Annoyed, Obi-wan swore bitterly at one of his ragged shirts.

The ground had fallen beneath him, everything was upside down. His body and mind raged a bitter war. His blood pounded against him, pushing against his skin. He felt like exploding, bursting into a hail of bones and guts.

The pebbles and trinkets of his small cave wobbled up from the ground. They floated haphazardly around him and circled like planets. What semblance of control he still had over his life was eroding.

He hardly noticed as emotion overtook his senses, feeding on the darker peripheries of the Force.

In the chaos of himself, only one word toiled over the noise and captured his entire attention:

 _Child. Child. Child. Child._

"Blasted! Where are those credits?!" he snarled to himself.

One of the objects encompassing him flew into a wall and shattered. He didn't so much as blink at the sudden noise.

He upturned rock after rock and finally found the small stash of money under his rock-hewn bed. Dusty and crusted over, he snatched the silver rectangles up and threw them in the sack.

Eisley was several miles away and a difficult journey by foot, especially in the characteristic Tatooine heat.

Yet, it was even more perilous in the nighttime, so he could not leave now. There were exotic, mysterious creatures that crawled under the sea of sand, ones who waited patiently for a blind, foolish meal to come their way.

Even now, Obi-wan could sense their skittering, creeping presence sifting around him, hiding. A few times he had awakened to find a half-digested corpse of an unlucky Sand Person, or some other poor beast, lying shredded and defaced in the ravines surrounding his cave.

A small part of him wanted to throw all caution to the wind and embrace the challenge that the creatures posed. He sorely needed an outlet for his building frustration. A night of rage and blood waited just outside his door. Maybe he could just take a peek…

No, the logical half refuted sternly, he would wait for the suns to rise before he set off. It wouldn't do anyone any good to die now. As much as he may resent or deny it, there was a galaxy depending on him. This surprise mission was already foolish enough without a monster-killing spree. He shouldn't press his luck.

So, with his bag packed and ready, he unceremoniously plopped down upon his dirty floor. The rocks floating in the air fell with him—a chorus of thuds. He huffed and crossed his arms tightly, strangling his chest.

He shut his eyes, but his glower remained.

Obi-wan hoped against hope that his body would be tired enough from the day's adventure to sleep despite the swarm in his mind. This was not to be.

As soon as his shoulders relaxed an inch, a throng of restless thoughts buzzed into his head. They bit and bit and bit, shearing him to the bone.

 _Daughter. I have a…daughter._

 _With Satine._

 _How could I be so careless?_

 _Why didn't she tell me?_

 _No, it can't be right. It's a mistake._

His gut clenched.

 _But what if it isn't? What if she's in trouble? The vision…_

His fingers curled into fists.

 _Why was Maul there? Does the Sith_ know _?! How does he know about any of it?! Did Satine tell_ him _?! Of all people?!_

His mouth warped into a deep-seated frown.

 _No, no. Satine wouldn't. She must have had a reason for the secrecy…_

An image of the girl bubbled to the forefront of his brain. Her big eyes were full with fear as she cowered from afar, watching Maul and Obi-wan duel.

Her last, fading words whispered: _"Don't let him kill me, too."_

 _I have to save her. I shouldn't be sitting here._

 _I should leave._

 _What about Luke? What if something happens and I'm not here to protect him?_

 _I should stay. What if the vision was wrong? It could have been a trick._

His instincts said otherwise. Visions like that didn't just happen. It had all been so real. His body still ached from it.

He swallowed and rubbed his throat.

 _I have to know._

No matter the consequences, he couldn't just sit here and turn a blind eye to it. Luke was in good hands, he told himself. The Jedi had not seen a whiff of the Empire around these parts in months and he sensed no foreboding feeling and heard no murmur in the Force redirecting him.

Besides, Obi-wan was practically forbidden from seeing the boy anyway. What did it matter if he skipped out for a few days?

Leaning his cloaked head back against a lumpy boulder, his mind switched tracks.

 _Does my...does she know about me? Did Satine tell her?_

A jolt of grief twisted his heart.

 _Why didn't Satine tell me?_

That question stung the most. Was she ashamed? Did she honestly think he would _reject_ her? That he would stop loving her because of this?

With a mounting sense of stupid honor, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if Satine had told him, he wouldn't have wasted a second in leaving the Order to be at her side. Already, he was imagining it—a wife, a family, a home, away from his burdens and shame.

Bitter, he realized that he could have had another option besides rotting in a cave on some deserted, backwater planet. He could have been happy. He could have had a family—a _real_ one. It was odd, and strangely exhilarating, to think of it: Obi-wan Kenobi, the orphan, having a _family_. One that wasn't connected by codes or regulations like the Jedi or splintered and broken like the one before the Order, but a perfect—for it would be _perfect_ with Satine—family.

His thoughts raced crazily. He could see it now: a sunlit doorway, Satine, pregnant and glowing with his second child—no, his _third_! _Fourth_! _Fifth_! _Sixth_! They would never stop!—sitting in a cozy chair by the window, one of his children running amok as he or she pretended to be a spaceship.

Satine would chide the little one for being too loud, maybe, which would surely cause a pout and a grumble. But, never fear! Obi-wan would swoop in from another room and lift the toddler onto his shoulder and continue the game outside.

Satine would shake her head but a stretching smile would be on her lips as she watched from her perch.

He could hear the laughter of his child squealing above him, could feel tiny hands gripping his hair as they held on for dear life. His own chest was rumbling with mirth as he bucked and ran around, protectively clutching the little toes that dangled over his shoulders...

"Perfect…" he sighed.

A pang of guilt snapped at him, dragging him down to reality.

It would never be.

If he got what he wanted—if all that he desired with Satine had come to pass—the hope for the galaxy would have been snuffed out. Luke and Leia would have died with their mother on Mustafar or, worse, they might have been corrupted by their father.

Countless lives, not just Satine and his daughter, had depended on Obi-wan to deliver the twins to safety and to see the disastrous Clone Wars to the bitter end.

With growing certainty, he knew that if he had stayed on Mandalore, he would not have survived. He had too many enemies, too many skeletons in his closet—one of them would have caught up with him. If it hadn't been Death Watch, it would have been Maul. If it hadn't been Maul, it would have been the Empire. On and on the cycle of grief went.

If he had chosen the Duchess over his vow, he would probably be just one among many corpses and casualties—another bloody Jedi cloak among the massacre of his brothers and sisters. The will of the Force had placed him here, and it was where he belonged.

Nevertheless, the Force had now, perhaps, granted him one last chance to make things right and bury his dead. The vision in the canyon was a sign. He had been helpless to stop Satine's death, but it was within his power now to stop something equally terrible from repeating itself.

Maul would not take a third helping. Obi-wan would not let the monster snatch another innocent life out from under him.

Clenching his jaw, he felt more confident in his decision to leave. He consoled any remaining doubt that he would be back before he knew it. If there was any hint of trouble, any sign telling him otherwise, he would come straight home, he promised.

Toes curling, he bit the inside of his cheek anxiously. The doubt was not so easily defeated.

Perhaps he was being too hasty; perhaps he should wait another week before embarking on this mad escapade.

His gut gave a twinge and his blood began to race. The odd sensation of protectiveness from earlier today came back with a vengeance. He tucked his hands under his arms tightly, trying to hold himself together. It was agony sitting in the dark, waiting and debating.

 _I have to know._

He was back to square one.

Pushing the back of his skull against the rock wall, he tried to stifle the disquiet of his mind. It wouldn't shut down, wouldn't give him a moment's peace. It made him feel like a jittery boy again, like a stumbling, wide-eyed padawan.

He gave a great exhale, draining his lungs, depleting the tension coiling in his body. With great effort, he forced his brain into a blank slate of black, restarting his attempts to fall asleep. He focused on his breathing—in and out, in and out—and on the way his whiskers swayed with each repetition.

Soon, he was in the in-between—not quite awake and not quite asleep. Patiently, he waited, trying to go as limp and thoughtless as possible.

On the cusp of slumber, however, a vague image of the girl bubbled up again.

Despite himself, a weak, poignant smile played on his lips as he thought of her. He had been surprised—she took after him! Except for the eyes—those were a lovely mystery, a hazel island in a sea of blue.

Obi-wan did not remember his mother well, but he wondered if she was the source of his daughter's coloring. It gave him a drop of pleasure that she might be. There was something refreshingly exciting and new about it—like finding a part of himself he had never known about.

With sleepy longing, he wished she had told him her name. Knowing Satine, it would have been a meaningful one.

His bedtime thoughts began to meander through a thousand names, trying to guess the answer—counting sheep. Somewhere along the Samanthas, the Sarahs, and the Sawyers, he nodded off. With arms loosely crossed, head drooping, and knees curled into his chest, he dreamt of abstract, happy fantasies.

Each blurry sequence contained the imprint of mischievous amber eyes and the jingle of familiar laughter. For once, no shadow marred his rest and no guilt-ridden crease furrowed his brow. In fact, when he awoke, he was surprised to find a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Feeling as if he were encased in some great, shimmery bubble, he gave a content sigh. His hunched posture had unfurled over the night. He lay sprawled on the ground, an arm over his eyes and a foot in the air, heel against the wall. His eyelids blinkered open grudgingly. He smacked his dirt encrusted tongue, turning the sand into an unpleasant muddy flavor.

With a yawning groan, he sat and coughed, reaching for his water canteen. He took a swig of it and spat, cleaning his mouth. Slits of light were peeking through the boulder that blocked the entryway to his cavern. Lifting a lazy, half-asleep hand, he pushed the makeshift doorway aside.

As it rolled, a dazzling ray of sun radiated through. The morning was very late.

"Oh no!" he moaned, dragging a hand over his gritty face, brain firing.

At this rate, he wouldn't make it to Mos Eisley before the sun set. Kicking himself, the glamour of his good night's rest popped, leaving him bitter and grumpy.

Jumping up, he snatched his readymade bag and stomped out of the cave, shaking out his cloak as he did.

* * *

Darth Maul sat alone in a dilapidated shack. The meager, shattered windows were covered with makeshift curtains and boards—whatever he could find to block out the light.

Legs crossed under him in the familiar meditation pose, his searing gaze was hidden underneath his red-tinted lids. His face was menacingly calm, like a stalking cat. The Dark Side swirled about him, hissing muted secrets in his eager ear.

The girl still eluded him. Whoever protected her had hidden her well.

He knew she was not in the city. He had turned over every rock, had slaughtered every Death Watch associate or past Vizsla supporter in his quest. None had known of the brat, none had seen anything useful. His next step had been the same one for months now: find the lieutenant, Bo-Katan, the missing link.

She was infamous among the ranks of her friends and foes, but she had disappeared much like the girl. Maul had a sneaking suspicion that the two were travelling together. They could be anywhere, but his instincts told him that they were still here, close by—just out of his reach.

There was something protecting the pair, something larger at work. The constant frustration, the incessant failure, was peculiarly unlucky. The Dark Side remained stubbornly silent, almost unwilling to connect with him on the matter.

Indeed, he only sensed a budding, vague premonition—something or someone was coming. He would not have to wait long for revelation.

He grinned eagerly. Patience was one of his virtues.


End file.
